Monsters of Mortality
by WhatIsFanfiction
Summary: Katraya, a young misanthropic Redguard warrior, finds a new family with the Companions. A death in Jorrvaskr leaves the girl devastated and spurs her to pursue her Dragonborn legend - but will destroying Alduin be enough to satisfy her? What will the arrival of a dark and mysterious amulet hold in store for the young Dragonborn?
1. Chapter 1

_Disclaimer: This fanfiction is based on the game The Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim, created by Bathesda Game Studios and published by Bethesda Softworks, and I do not own any of the characters. Please note also some of the dialogue is taken from the game itself to make this fanfiction feel true to the complex and beautiful world of Skyrim. Please enjoy._

* * *

Katraya gripped her hunting bow with her left hand, and held an iron arrow in place with her right, her insipidly blue eyes searching the sky for the source of the thunderous roar that swept the plains surrounding the Western Watchtower.

"Kynareth save us, here he comes again…"

Pillars of smoke rose from the fires strewn across the fields, lingering in the twilight sky, blocking any advantageous view the warriors had against the savage dragon known as Mirmulnir. The knot in the Redguard's stomach intensified as the beating of wings grew louder.

"He is coming from the South!" exclaimed Irileth. The unit of guards wielded their weapons, their armour suddenly feeling markedly heavier than usual as the formidable dragon approached. A shrill roar filled the battleground, a little too close to the watchtower than the band of anxious warriors should have liked.

Mirmulnir's horned head speared through the smoke, his colossal wings dispersing the smog, the blood red skies emerging into view. _Blood shall be spilled this night_, thought the Redguard warrior. The dragon spew flames unto the earth as he soared above the soldiers, cries of agony and the smell of burnt flesh filling the razed arena. Katraya kept a hold of her arrow nocked in the bow; with only a few arrows she could not afford any mistakes. Mirmulnir returned once again with a flurry of flames, the girl rolled towards the entrance of the watchtower, sprinting inside the stony barricade. She clambered up the deteriorating steps of the tower, bile rising in her throat from the bodies ablaze on the ground behind her.

Arriving at the top of the tower, she could see clearly the figures below on the ground. Irileth, the Dunmer nightblade and a courageous woman, was desperately trying to protect her men. Already half were rolling on the ground or lay still on the earth, their spirits already in Sovngarde. Mirmulnir had not seen Katraya atop of the tower, and was still circling the weary warriors on the land, flames licking their armour.

Katraya knelt behind a turned table, counting her arrows. Six arrows were all she had. The only way they could defeat the dragon was to wait for it to land, and only then could they get a sure shot on the beast; but would any of them survive the attack long enough to see Mirmulnir land?

Katraya peeked over the table. Only a few guards remained. It was time to act.

Nocking an arrow to her bow, Katraya stood strong and aimed at the dragon in flight tormenting his prey. Where even was a dragon's weak spot? Feeling utterly helpless, she closed her eyes and held her breath, letting the arrow fly towards her target. After a moment, she opened her pale eyes once more. The damn arrow had missed. She shot another arrow, and another. Only three arrows left. Frustration overtook her rational fear, and in an act of reckless impulsiveness, the Redguard provoked the dragon with her arrows and her insults.

"You lizard blowhard, come and fight a real warrior!" she shouted at Mirmulnir, immersing herself in an entire focus. Mirmulnir finally saw Katraya standing atop the building, holding her bow and arrow, unscathed from his Shouts.

"_Brit grah_. I had forgotten what fine sport you mortals can provide!" replied the dragon. His vast wings beat the air with great force, turning towards Katraya and the tower. Katraya stood firm, her arrow pulled back and her breathing steady. Mirmulnir sailed closer, the thought of catching this mortal between his jaws making him giddy as he flew closer. Only a few paces stood between the dragon and the warrior, and Katraya weakened the pull of the arrow and rolled to the side, coming up onto one of her knees and pulled back the arrow once again. The dragon couldn't turn quickly enough to match her roll, and as his scaly head reached the tower Katraya let her arrow fly straight into the dragon's eye.

Mirmulnir's painful cry thundered above Irileth and her men who were firing arrows at the beast but confused as to what had just occurred. Katraya smiled smugly to herself and ran down the steps of the tower to meet her prey. She returned her bow to her back and unsheathed her swords, ready to defeat the dragon.

Irileth stepped back and shielded herself as the dragon fell to the ground like a comet, dirt flying from the impact. The warriors sheathed their bows and wielded their axes and swords, ready to take on the dragon and draw its blood. Mirmulnir, in shock at the girl tricking him, was too stunned to use his Thu'um against the treacherous mortals. He still wailed as he hit the warriors with his tail and wings, feeling pain as they struck against his scaly skin.

Katraya ran towards the fallen dragon, both swords wielded like snake fangs, she grabbed the beast's horns and jumped upon its skull, holding the swords above and driving them through its head. She gripped the swords tight as the dragon fought its defeat, writhing and trying to buck the mortal from his head.

Mirmulnir finally ended his rebellion and accepted his death. Katraya pulled her swords from the dragon's skull, the metal glazed in crimson blood, and slid off the body. Irileth and the three guards remaining approached the dragon slayer.

"That was mighty impressive, Redguard. You have a warrior's spirit," praised one of the three men.

"Thank-" Katraya was interrupted before she could reply, as the body behind her set ablaze, leaving only a skeleton in its wake. She watched as the last of the flames joined the twilight skies. A great force of energy engulfed the Redguard warrior, bringing her to her knees, her swords clanking onto the stony ground and clutched herself as the soul of Mirmulnir joined with her own.

Only one thing echoed within her mind, one word: _Fus_. The word that had been engraved in the wall of Bleak Falls Barrow, she realised, the dragon translation for the word "force". This she knew because of the soul of the dragon she had just -

What _had_ she just done? Eaten his soul? Absorbed it? Entwined with it? As she came back to her reality, she stood back up, a new strength resonating within her.

"I can't believe it! You're… Dragonborn!" said one of the guards in awe.

"Dragonborn," replied Katraya, her brows furrowed together, "what do you mean?"

"In the very oldest tales, back from when there were still dragons in Skyrim, the Dragonborn would slay dragons and steal their power. That's what you did, isn't it? Absorbed that dragon's power?" the guard stared at Katraya intently, expectantly, patiently.

"I… I'm not sure what happened," replied Katraya, still dazed by what had happened.

"There's only one way to find out. Try to Shout," said the guard. Katraya looked on, uncomprehending of what this guard was talking about.

"According to the old legends, only the Dragonborn can Shout without training, the way the dragons do."

"Dragonborn? What are you talking about?" interjected another guard.

"That's right, my grandfather used to tell stories about the Dragonborn!" exclaimed the last guard, "those born with the Dragon Blood in 'em. Like old Tiber Septim himself.

"I never heard of Tiber Septim killing any dragons," the second guard replied, his tone obviously dismissing his Shield-Brothers stories.

"There weren't any dragons then, idiot," the first guard spat at him, "they're just coming back now for the first time in… forever."

"But the old tales tell of the Dragonborn who could kill dragons and steal their power. You must be one!" said the last guard.

"Come on, Irileth," said the second doubtful guard, "Tell us, do you believe in this Dragonborn business?"

"Hmph, some of you would be better off keeping quiet than flapping your gums on matter you don't know anything about", her words were like daggers, killing the hope the optimistic guards had, "here's a dead dragon, and that's something I definitely understand. Now we know we can kill them," the Dunmer indicated to the skeletal dragon laid before her. "But I don't need some mythical Dragonborn. Someone who can put down a dragon is more than enough for me."

"You wouldn't understand, Housecarl. You ain't a Nord," uttered the faithful guard.

"I've been all across Tamriel!" said Irileth, "I've seen plenty of things just as outlandish as this. I'd advise you all to trust in the strength of your sword arm over tales and legends." Irileth left the conversation, picking up her arrows from the dragon remains and the soil around her, muttering under her breath. "Redguard," called the Dunmer to Katraya. She hesitantly approached her, "you better get back to Whiterun, right away. Jarl Balgruuf will want to know what happened here."

Katraya took this as her invitation to leave the men and Irileth to mourn over their fallen brothers in battle. A resonant chiming of voices fell over Skyrim, Shouting one word: _Dovahkiin!_

* * *

"My name is Lydia. The Jarl has appointed me to be your Housecarl. It's an honour to serve you," a bright eyed woman stood before the Dragonborn, wearing steel armour and a shield in her left hand.

"You're a… Housecarl? What kind of Nord absurdity is that," replied Katraya.

Lydia stood bemused before her master. "As my Thane, I'm sworn to your service. I'll guard you and all you own with my life."

"So you're a lap dog," Katraya said bluntly.

The woman looked hurt, "as I said, I am in your service." The dark haired woman continued to stand before her Thane, rather uneasily Katraya noted, awaiting a command.

"Well, Lydia," Katraya said emphasising her subject's name, "I've had a long day. I've escaped my own beheading, evaded a dragon and slayed another, as well as watching my brothers in battle scorched to death on the battlefield. I'd quite like to spend some time alone."

"Of course, my Thane," Lydia bowed her head and left her Thane's company.

* * *

Katraya sat at a secluded table in the corner of the Bannered Mare, a hood up to cover herself from any more nosy Whiterun guards claiming her to be "Dragonborn".

The Redguard woman known as Saadia had served Katraya some traditional Nord Mead, a drink that made her feel even further away from her home in Hammerfell; perfect. She had tried to make conversation, but as soon as Katraya had lifted her face to look at the woman, she had instantly frozen and awkwardly tried to escape the exchange, blushing as she smoothed down her barkeep skirt, and finally made an excuse to leave.

The inn was fairly busy considering it had not long been nightfall. Katraya guessed it was linked with the return of the dragons, which in her opinion has transpired at a rather beneficial moment, moments before her bloody head would have rolled away from the chopping block of Helgen. It was very favourable, indeed. The word of Alduin the World-Eater returning to Skyrim hummed throughout the inn, both a thrill and a dread slipping off the tongues of the adventurers. Katraya noted, however, that there was no word of the last Dragonborn rising from the ashes of Mirmulnir, which suited her perfectly tonight.

A blonde Nord in bright colours stood by the fire in the centre of the inn, playing a redwood lute and singing _Ragnar the Red_, which appeared to be a fan favourite of sorts. The man winked and came close to Saadia as she walked past him, serving another warrior of the inn.

"Oh, there once was a hero named Ragnar the Red, who came riding to Whiterun from ole Rorikstead…"

_Milk-drinkers_, thought Katraya at the sight of the drunken lot. She switched her attention to another group of men sitting at a table, discussing rumours other than the return of the dragons.

"Ey, you seen that demon 'orse ridin' round Skyrim? It's one of those undead ones, rumoured to be with those murderous bunch," the man had one white eye, with a single scar running through it from his forehead to his cheekbone, a ragged line that varied in thickness like a river.

"Oh, yes," said another, a finely dressed man, "they say its name is Shadowmere, the horse of legends, eyes as red as the Bloodmoon itself I tell you!"

"You're lying," said a third, a younger man not much younger than Katraya herself.

"Lying?" said the second, bringing his mead down firmly onto the table with a thump, "my boy, what would you know? You've been on that farm your whole damned life!"

The scarred man leaned in closer to his mates, "I've seen it myself, y'know."

The finer man guffawed at the white eyed man, "Now that I don't believe," he replied.

"Oh, I've seen it alright, you best believe it. Falkreath Hold, I saw it I did. It had a rider, too. A woman, would you believe it!"

"Stop it," said the boy.

The man stood up from his seat, acting out the role of the female assassin. "And she took a bow," his arms stretched out, "and flung an arrow right through the 'eart of my companion!" he gripped his heart and feigned his pain.

"Stop it you old man, you don't know what you're talking about and you are lying," said the gentleman. "And do you know how I know that you _are_ lying? If there was an assassin she would have had the wisdom to send an arrow through your heart too!"

The shabby man took back his seat and took a swig of his mead. "The Dark Brotherhood have returned, whether you choose to believe it or not, my friend!" he leaned in close to his gentle friend, his drunken state taking its toll, "and your unwavering doubt 'urts me."

He sat back, stewing in his own mead driven intoxication. "And of course there is that boy in Wind'elm who performed the Black Sacrament."

"Your stories bore me, Haren," said the refined man. "And what about you, nephew? Any stories to share with the group?"

"The dragons, of course. That dragon was the only interesting thing I saw on the farm today," the boy replied.

"It's time to leave that wretched farm, boy! How old are you? Seventeen? You should be wielding a sword by now!" Haren babbled to the young man, the boy flustered by the cracked Nord in front of him.

"My nephew? With a sword?" The uncle laughed heartily at the ridiculous notion. "Far too scrawny for a sword and shield!"

"Perhaps we should send him off to Riften to see the Thieves Guild, his skinny bones would prove well for that line of work," Haren uttered. The uncle turned grave towards his friend.

"I advise you never present a remark like that again, Haren Farseer, if you would like to live to see another bottle of Mead. No nephew of mine will be a criminal!" He grabbed his nephew by the shoulder. "You shall go to Sovngarde, my boy! I will make sure of that! But I agree that it is time for you to leave that farm…"

The arrival of a band of nine warriors interrupted the Redguard's eavesdropping on the declining conversation. They entered the inn, a cacophony of laughter and cheers pervading the room and filling the other residents with their glee. Katraya vaguely recognized a tall man with dark hair and steel armour, and a red haired huntress. She recalled them fighting a giant outside the gates of Whiterun, not long after she had escaped Helgen.

One of the female warriors wearing a helmet goaded the Dunmer warrior, and soon they had begun to brawl.

"Not again," sighed Saadia.

Haren encouraged the fight from a distance.

Katraya noticed another of the Companions staring at her, lifting a drink to her and wiggling his eyebrows up and down. The inn had become too crowded for her, she had decided, rolling her eyes at the drunkard watching her from across the room. Katraya pulled her hood further covering her face, and silently stood and walked to the entrance of the inn. She held the handle of the door, and took a swift glance back to the warriors behind her, and pulled the door toward her.

Aela had sworn she had seen that girl before.

* * *

Katraya left the warmth of the Bannered Mare behind her, stepping into the vacant town of Whiterun. The frenzied day of a close death and the loss of soldiers on the battlefield had balanced out with the mass of gold she had stolen from the corpse of the dragon. _The bloodshed was nice though_, she mused.

And most importantly, she had defeated her first dragon; a mysterious beast that hadn't been seen in Tamriel for centuries, and she had been the one to destroy it. The warrior smirked at the thought of boasting about her new accomplishment, it was certainly a nice ego boost for the Redguard.

Throwing around her title of "Dragonborn" might have been nice too, if it hadn't left expectations of heroism in its wake.

"What? Why you lookin' at me?"

The beggar pulled Katraya out of her bittersweet reverie.

"You smell like you've bathed in a mead barrel."

"Thanks for the kind words, lady."

"That wasn't a compliment," she slurred. "Are you always drunk?"

"Only if I can help it. But damn if I ain't almost sober. But by the smell of things you ain't so sober yourself," the beggar swayed a little, tripping over the non-existent boulder in front of him. "Hey. You just come out of the Bannered Mare," the sentence came out somewhere between a question and a statement. "There's this bottle of Argonian Ale. The good stuff. Get it for me. They won't even know it's gone. Come on…"

"Do I look like a bar wench to you," spat the girl. "If you want it so badly get it yourself."

"Come on, do it for me," he came closer to her, his breath a stink of mead and his body an odour of sweat and dirt. She went for her sword, gripping the handle ready to unsheathe.

"One step closer, snow-berries -"

"What's happening here," a guard approached with his own weapon drawn. "Hey, I know you. You're the one who killed that dragon! The guards told me about you. You're the Dragonborn!"

The mere sound of the word affected the woman, making her wince.

"Dragonborn?" exclaimed the beggar, "she ain't no Dragonborn! She was about to stick me with that lump of metal!"

"Perhaps if you bathed every once in a while people wouldn't be so inclined to hurt you."

"I think it's time you left the girl in peace, Brenuin."

"Tssk. Whatever." The beggar staggered away, talking and singing to himself as he tried to climb the stony stairs to the Wind District.

"How can one man make it look so difficult to climb a staircase? He makes it look as if it were the Throat of the World."

The guard chuckled.

"Now, Dragonborn. Why were you about to stick a sword through that old beggar's chest?"

"I wasn't going to stick anyone. I was going to slice him."

"I doubt your rusty old sword could slice anyone. You look tired, friend. The Bannered Mare's got warm beds for rent." The guard sniffed the air in front of him and took a step back, "I thought it was the old man that reeked of ale! By the Divines, how many have you had?"

"Not nearly enough," Katraya retorted, closing her pale lifeless eyes and sighing. "But I think the real question here is what does a mighty warrior have to do around here to have a bed for free? I slayed your dragon and have been named your Thane, now where's my damn bed and meal?"

"I will pay for your bed for the night if it will make you stop moaning," said the guard, guiding her back to the inn.

Katraya lifted her head in pride, "I do not need the assistance of a _Nord_ to clamber into my own bed, but it is about time my noble actions were recognized. Give me the septims and I'll be on my way," she held her hand out to the guard awaiting his coin.

The guard scoffed at the scornful woman in front of him. "You really think I will pay for your lodgings now?"

"Of course. You said it yourself, I am the Dragonborn. You will respect me for I am your legendary hero of old." Finally, the title was about to prove useful.

"And like you said, _Redguard_, you do not need the assistance of a Nord. Now stay out of trouble, and don't drink any more mead."

The guard walked back towards his post by the General Goods store. "Tourists," he muttered under his breath.

_Obnoxious oaf_, thought Katraya as she entered the inn alone once again.

* * *

Daylight entered the small window of the room, highlighting the floating dust in the small rented space of the Bannered Mare. The Redguard's ebony hair spilled over her face in a tangled mess, her Stormcloak armour thrown around the room in a clutter reflecting the hung over owner still in bed.

A knock on the door awoke the Dragonborn abruptly, alerting her to her own migraine acquired the night before.

"Time to get up and out," Saadia called from behind the door. Katraya's body ached from the mead that had surged through her veins.

She put on her armour, sheathing her swords and grabbing her dragon gold loot she had stolen quickly before Irileth had seen it; _no doubt the Dunmer would have taken it with her greedy little hands_.

Hulda leaned onto the counter, grinning as the hung over Redguard walked by clutching her head. "First hang over?"

"Speak to me again and you won't have a tongue to speak with," Katraya retorted.

"A potion and some water will clear that up right away, friend."

"Bite me."

* * *

Katraya drank the health potion in one as she stood outside Arcadia's Cauldron. The witch inside had also found her condition amusing. Katraya had wished she was back in Hammerfell where violence was an accepted form of communication, but the yearning had only lasted a moment.

The dragon and the resonating voices coming from the mountain had stuck in Katraya's mind since she had awoken. She didn't know much about the Nords legends of the Dragonborn, but she knew that she would be imperative to them if they found out – and that they would be very disappointed with their Dragonborn.

She didn't want to travel to the Greybeards to fulfil her "destiny". What destiny? There was no such this as fate and destiny. The Nords wanted their Dragonborn hero to come and save them from the dragons – tough. If they wanted the dragons gone they could get off their lazy rears and do it their selves.

"You there, Redguard," a deep woman's voice beckoned to Katraya, calling her out of her thoughts. She looked up, only to see the fiery red haired Companion from the night before. Aela strolled toward the Dragonborn, her shoulders held back with pride, her war markings a reflection of this woman's primal aura. A huntress, she deduced.

"This is my fourth time seeing you and yet you still have not come to Jorrvaskr. Why?"

"Four times? This is only the third, but I suppose someone who only uses their brawn is bound to be loose with their brain" replied Katraya. The potion was slowly beginning to remove her migraine.

The girl's confidence irritated her. "The first time you helped myself, Ria and Farkas defeat a giant at Pelagia Farm -"

"I think you'll find that I was the one that crushed the giant, and you three were merely admiring my handy work."

Aela narrowed her silver moon eyes at the insufferable young woman in front of her.

"The second time you were slashing our training dummies to pieces behind Jorrvaskr – yes, we did see and yes, you will be paying for their repair," Katraya blushed at the knowledge that she was caught. She had been practicing with her stolen swords before she had travelled to Bleak Falls Barrow to retrieve the Dragonstone.

"The third was last night when you could hardly contain your mead inside the Bannered Mare, and this is now my fourth time seeing you in Whiterun."

Katraya stood in silence, looking away from the overbearing Nord woman in front of her.

Aela softened her tone, "I think you could be a decent warrior, if you took your head out of your arse for five minutes." Katraya blinked, her gaze unchanged.

"I am already a decent warrior, but thank you for the patronizing words," declared the Dragonborn, finally returning her eyes to the fiery huntress.

"If you think you're better than we are, go talk to Kodlak Whiteman. See what a warrior of true mettle is like," Aela replied. She grabbed her bow from her back and headed towards the Whiterun gates, her cool confidence an aura seen an hour's trek away.

_Divines damn the red haired huntress and her irresistible taunt._

* * *

"A stranger comes to our hall." Katraya stood before the two seated men, shifting her weight from side to side. This felt wrong, seeking out an authority to obey. It was unnatural.

The eldest man, wearing wolf armour and a silver streaked head spoke to the warrior before him. "Why are you here?"

"I would… like to join the Companions," the last part came out so quickly she could barely understand what she had said herself, her eyes darting everywhere but the grey bearded man.

"Would you now? Here, let me have a look at you." The man sat back in his chair, his eyes consuming the warrior. Katraya felt herself heating up, regretting the position she had put herself in coming to this upside-down boat house, her eyes suddenly meeting with the dark haired man sitting beside his mentor, and flickering away again.

"Hm. Yes, perhaps. A certain strength of spirit."

The dark haired Nord looked furious, his brows dragging his face down into a frown. "Master, you're not truly considering accepting her?"

"I am nobody's master, Vilkas. And last I checked, we had some empty beds in Jorrvaskr for those with a fire burning in their hearts."

The mention of a bed caught the Dragonborn's attention.

Vilkas shifted in his seat, "Apologies. But perhaps this isn't the time. I've never even heard of this outsider."

"Sometimes the famous come to us. Sometimes men and women come to us to seek their fame. It makes no difference," replied the elder. "What matters is their heart."

"And their arm," Vilkas interjected.

"Of course. How are you in battle, girl?" Kodlak glared intently at the warrior in front of him.

"You're not seriously questioning my skill, are you?" she scoffed.

"Calm down there, whelp," said the grey man. Katraya sneered at the remark. "Don't feel like you need to show off for our sake. Vilkas here will be the one testing your mettle." Kodlak turned to his right hand. "Vilkas, take her out to the yard and see what she can do."

"Aye," he replied flatly.

* * *

"The old man said to have a look at you, so let's do this." Vilkas unsheathed his sword and held his shield up high. Testing the new recruits was always unpredictable; some had the strength of a mammoth, others the ferocity of a sabre cat, and some were as pathetic as a rabbit.

This one looked like a rabbit.

Katraya wielded her two iron swords, embarrassed by the sheer condition of the brittle metal. The whole occasion felt pointless, but the chance of encountering a true battle excited her – fighting side by side and sparring with the greatest warriors of Skyrim, or so she had been told. There was nothing like a dash of carnage and mayhem that invigorated the Redguard more, other than possibly a great feast and a comfortable bed.

"Just have a few swings at me so I can see your form. Don't worry, I can take it."

Katraya began her attack, her swords bouncing from the shield and spinning to gain momentum. It felt good to be sparring with a real warrior again.

"Hoods are for mages. If you're going to spin it will block your sight, take it off."

Katraya froze – the hood was the only thing blocking people seeing her face, something she didn't like to show voluntarily. "I'm doing fine."

Vilkas waited for her to turn again and struck her with his sword, making a shallow cut in her armour. "Take it off, Redguard," he growled. "Next time I won't go so easy on you."

Katraya took a step back from her sparring partner, shifting her eyes to the small crowd that had emerged from Jorrvaskr. She cast her eyes down, kicking her boot into the ground. "Fine," she snarled, pulling her hood down and untucking her long ponytail from her armour.

"Start again."

Katraya took a defensive role this time, countering his attacks and striking when there was a clear shot, keeping her face cast as far down as she could without blinding herself to her foe.

"What the matter with you? Look at your opponent when you fight. Basic rule number one!" He taunted her now, beating his shield with his sword. The two warriors circled each other - Vilkas waiting for the girl to finally snap and strike, Katraya waiting for him to give up and end this torment. The crowd only knotted her stomach more.

Vilkas was tired of this game; she obviously needed a little more encouragement on her part. He sheathed his sword, a sudden shield bash knocking the girl's balance. He leapt in close to her, too close and fast for her to stop him. She still cast her eyes down and away from the predator coming closer to her. This girl was pitiful.

"All bark and no bite," he growled, inches away from her. With his free hand, he pulled her chin upwards and snapped it up to level with his own. "Look at your oppo-"

It was then he realised what he had done. The Redguard girl had ice blue eyes, barely visible through the hair she had grown to cover her face; they didn't sparkle or twinkle like the songs of fair maidens. They were flat, lifeless, holding a blankness that sent a chill down his spine. Her cheekbones were slightly higher than the typical Alik'r warrior he had seen roaming Whiterun, and her ears slightly sharper than an average Man's ear.

"Half-breed," he uttered.

Katraya stood stiff, glaring at the imprudent Nord in front of her. The swords in her hands invited her to teach this inconsequential man a lesson in manners.

Vilkas saw her eyes calculating, her mouth a firm thin line that converted to a grimace – she pulled her hood back over her head tersely and struck his shield with her sword, slicing and twirling this irksome man into Oblivion.

"Steady, girl!"

Vilkas blocked each attack, but they were becoming heavier and quicker, the girl moving so fast he caught only a glimpse of the face of fury he had unintentionally unleashed, his shield taking a battering from the fearsome warrior.

"Calm down!"

Katraya unleashed all of her remaining rage into a single slash on his shield, a strike that scarred the iron as it clattered onto the ground, and shattered her own sword.

The sparring partners stood facing each other, neither looking at each other directly, the girl panting as she came down from her frenzied high.

"Now look what you've done," Vilkas said, his tone cautious. He picked up his shield from the ground. "You should learn to control your temper before you hurt an innocent." His words created a fog of guilt over the girl.

"Eorlund can give you a new sword. Take my one up with you to be sharpened, whelp."

"Sharpen your own damn sword," Katraya hissed, her words made from pure poison as she turned and left the courtyard heading for Jorrvaskr.

* * *

The Dragonborn entered the building, humiliated and embarrassed that she had let Vilkas manipulate her. Coming here was a mistake. Coming to Skyrim had been an even greater mistake. Ever since she had left Hammerfell it had been one miserable circumstance after another.

Aela appeared from the door on the other side of Jorrvaskr, carrying a pile of pelts and a bag of meat from her hunting venture. "You came," she said, surprised by the Redguard's presence, noting that the girl carried only one sword and multiple shallow wounds. "So the old man thinks you have some heart, I guess," she said smirking.

"Something like that," Katraya grumbled. Aela settled her trophies onto the table that stretched across the room.

Vilkas entered from behind her. Katraya grabbed onto the hilt of her blade.

"Ah, there you are. I've been looking for you, _icebrain_," Aela teased, "show the new blood where she'll be resting her head."

Vilkas eyed the girl up and down. "Oh, I remember you. Come on, follow me."

"I will not go anywhere with you, Vilkas," retorted Katraya.

"Vilkas?" Aela questioned. The man looked equally as confused. "Oh, _Vilkas_. You're thinking of his twin. This is Farkas."

Katraya's eyes widened in realisation, her hand loosening her grip on her weapon. "I hope his arrogance and callousness does not run through your blood too. I don't have time for two vulgar men in my life."

"Nice to meet you too," Farkas deadpanned.

This brother had wide and gentle eyes, like a child, and had not been so offended by Katraya's presence. She already liked this one more. His hair was longer, he wore heavy steel armour and owned a greatsword on his back, and from Aela's insult she assumed that this twin had acquired the Warrior's Nature whereas the other had acquired the Mage's Wisdom.

"This way to your quarters," Farkas stated.

The burly man led her through double doors at the end of a stairway. "Aela and Skjor like to tease me, but they are good people. They challenge us to be our best," he said. _Sounds like an abuse victim_, Katraya mused to herself. "It's nice to have a new face around. It gets boring here sometimes," he shot a tooth filled smile at her then.

_Perhaps if she had met this one first, she might have been more inclined to sign up_. Katraya caught herself before her thoughts became even more absurdly oestrogen fuelled.

"I hope we keep you. This can be a rough life," he continued, completely unaware of the girl behind him warring with herself inside.

Farkas stopped at the open doors. "Here we are. Just pick a bed and fall in it when you're tired." Katraya began to salivate at the notion of her own bed to keep. "Tilma will keep the place clean. She always has." _A maid too_, she thought. Perhaps this was a good decision after all.

Katraya poked her head around the room. A few others floated around the room, rummaging through chests and spit-shining their weapons.

"Looks like the others are eager to meet you," Farkas said. "Come to me or Aela if you're looking for work." Out of the brainless giant and the intimidating huntress, it wasn't hard to choose who she would be talking to.

"Once you've made a bit of a name for yourself, Skjor and Vilkas might have things for you to do." Even the mention of that milk drinker made her blood curdle. And this was the second time she had heard that name – "Skjor" – and had not seen the ghost.

"Good luck. Welcome to the Companions," Farkas finished, his smile making his eyes shimmer.

Katraya looked away quickly before he could see her blush – but he had already begun to leave the room.

"Farkas, eh? I thought about it too, once," said an Imperial girl sitting on her bed, beaming at the new blood.

"There's no man here worthy for my admiration," said the other girl, a Nord, admiring her steel sword on her lap. "I'm still trying to figure out why Kodlak let you join in the first place."

"I find you equally unimpressive, Nord," retorted Katraya.

The young Imperial shifted on her bed, the sudden tension in the room overwhelming her. "My name is Ria, and this is Njada. I was the newest member before you joined. And who are you?"

"I don't care for her name," interrupted Njada.

"Katraya," the Redguard said, glaring at the Nord woman as she spoke. Njada replied with a simple "Hmph."

Ria smiled at her Shield-Sister's brashness; these two brazen warriors were not so different from each other. "I heard you gave Vilkas a run for his septims. That's pretty remarkable."

"I wouldn't expect anything less from the famous dragon slayer of Whiterun," jeered a male Dunmer sitting in the corner. "Athis is the name. Don't make me say it again."

"I believe the only person you have left to meet is Skjor, though I suppose he's probably busy right now," said Ria.

"You've already met Torvar, probably too drunk to remember though," teased Athis. Katraya remembered the Nord wiggling his eyebrows at her in the Mare and rolled her eyes.

"No, I remember. Regrettably."

Athis grinned, "That man enjoys a drink more than Njada enjoys a brawl."

"Damn right I enjoy a good fist fight. You better not be at the Mare tonight, new blood, otherwise you might be on the receiving end of my hobby." Njada stopped cleaning her sword for a moment, "maybe I was too hasty. You should come. I've been thirstin' to give a black eye."

"You'd be sorely disappointed with me; you'd be the one with a black eye," Katraya taunted. "Not that I'd choose to spend my time with a snowback like you."

"Maybe you should go talk to Farkas or Aela now," Ria said quickly, trying to diffuse the stern look on Njada's face. "See you later," she added, trying not to upset her new Shield-Sister.

Katraya left the room smirking, leaving a titanic scowl on Njada's war painted face. Brawling may be the Nord's favourite hobby, but riling people up was number one on Katraya's list.

Athis sniggered, "Things just got a whole lot more interesting around here."


	2. Chapter 2

_Disclaimer: This fanfiction is based on the game The Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim, created by Bathesda Game Studios and published by Bethesda Softworks, and I do not own any of the characters. Please note also some of the dialogue is taken from the game itself to make this fanfiction feel true to the complex and beautiful world of Skyrim. Please enjoy._

* * *

The week following had been quiet compared to her first few days in Skyrim; Farkas had given the new blood tasks to do on behalf of the Companions, giving her enough gold to buy new weaponry - something more suitable for a warrior of her status. He had even grown to like the whelp.

Katraya handled her new steel sword, twirling it in her hand and slashing the wrecked training dummy before her. It held a certain weight to it compared to the old iron one. _Better for decapitating my foes_, she sneered. She couldn't wait to baptise it in blood. Vilkas' blood would be the most satisfying. She had only enough money for a new sword and a dagger, although the new combination could work well with her lithely figure.

"Aela is unhappy with you," a gruff voice from behind called out. Farkas marched toward the girl, his heavy armour clinking with each step.

"How much does the harlot want?"

"Fifty septims," he ignored the Redguard's insult.

Katraya jingled her money pouch and peeked inside. "I only have ten."

The two Companions stared blankly at each other. A moment passed. And another.

"Vilkas is a better talker than me. He should be around someplace."

Katraya snarled, "I have no interest in your brother."

Farkas looked hurt by his friend's repulsion toward his brother, "You two have not spoken since you sparred together. Is something wrong?"

Katraya looked down at her new sword, watching the last of the sunlight rebound from the metal. She was mostly avoiding him because he knew her secret – that she wasn't a real Redguard warrior, she was a façade. In her heart she was a mighty warrior from Hammerfell, but in reality she was a joke to her brethren.

"He reeks of mammoth excrement and his form is weak. He is a poor excuse for a Companion," her eyes never met his once. She wasn't entirely comfortable with lying to her friend, but she held her head high and met her unsavoury reputation as a heartless wench. She was almost as unfavoured as Njada.

"In any case, how did it go with Brenuin?"

"He got the message alright. Won't be bothering the Mare anymore. You should have seen the look on his face when I showed him this," she held out her new sword, her arm outstretched, accentuating the sharp point of the weapon. "Told him it was thirsting for blood like one of those vampires these people love to talk about so much."

Farkas gave a deep chuckle, "Next time the vampires come to town we'll have to show 'em a good time."

"Absolutely," grinned the Redguard, the first genuine smile in months. She reverted back to her hard, cold gaze when she felt the pull of the unused muscle in her face.

"I'll clear up that debt with Aela as thanks," he said. He walked back toward the mead hall.

"Oh," he said, stopping in his tracks. "Skjor wants to talk to you. I think it's important." He shut the doors of Jorrvaskr behind him as he left Katraya to finish her training with her new weapons.

Only a pile of straw and wood remained in a shambolic mess on the ground behind her.

* * *

"You wanted to see me?"

Katraya had already met Skjor before she discovered, but had never been given his name. She stood before him now in the courtyard, the morning sun hesitantly rising over the horizon, an amber glow bleeding into the sky around it.

"I did. Your time, it seems, has come," he replied. "Last week a scholar came to us. He said he knew where we could find another fragment of Wuuthrad. He seemed a fool to me, but if he's right, the honour of the Companions demands that we seek it out."

"I trust they had gold as well," Katraya felt a heavy pull on her stomach that said otherwise.

"Not this time. This task is simple enough, and we have a duty to Ysgramor to bring it back to its rightful place."

"What does this have to do with me?" she said, a small yawn escaping her.

"This is a simple errand, but the time is right for it to be your Trial. Carry yourself with honour, and you'll become a true Companion. Farkas will be your Shield-Sibling on this venture, whelp."

Katraya flinched at the insult. Normally she would have spat back with a ferocious comeback, but something within her stopped her. Was Jorrvaskr making her soft?

"Try not to disappoint. Or to get him killed."

Finally, a skirmish with some action. The small tasks the other Companions had been handing out were well beneath her skill and ability, especially after retrieving the Dragonstone for the Jarl's court wizard and defeating the dragon at the Western Watchtower. Her new sword had been glinting with bloodlust, but after settling into Jorrvaskr a small part of her didn't want to ruin her chances of making a home with the other warriors. Since she had joined, the residents of Whiterun had begun greeting her with respect instead of suspicion of the dark-skinned girl. It was almost pleasant, but she had become restless without a battle to fight.

Katraya entered the dining hall of Jorrvaskr and began to stuff her bag with food from the table – a wheel of cheese, rabbit legs, chicken breasts, apples, lettuce, her mouth salivating from the thought of feasting by the dead bodies of her enemies.

Farkas emerged from the staircase, his eyes slightly droopy and his battle armour askew.

"You're awake earlier than I thought. I hope you've readied yourself." He also started packing food from the table into a bag, but only taking half as much as the Redguard.

"Good morning, Shield-Brother." Katraya was pleased that Farkas had been chosen rather than Vilkas. She held an apple in her gloved hand and spat on it. "So this is my trial?" she questioned, looking up to Farkas from under her hood, rubbing the spit into the surface of the apple.

"Yes. I watch you to make sure you are honourable." Her mind flickered to her sparring match with Vilkas, not exactly the epitome of respectful behaviour. She held the apple into the light with one eye closed, admiring the shine of the fruit. "If you are honourable and strong, then I can call you sister."

Katraya took a great bite from the apple, the crunch disturbing the silence of Jorrvaskr.

"And then I shall call you brother," she said, slightly flushing. She secured her bag and put it on her back.

* * *

The two warriors had travelled the Dustman's Cairn to the north-west, mostly silent, still awaking and synchronizing with the day.

They had entered the old dungeon, fires alight which was odd considering the crypt was supposed to have been full of the dead. "Looks like someone's been digging here recently," commented Farkas. "Tread lightly."

The two warriors followed the winding stone corridors of the crypt, a draft unsettling the cobwebs on the walls. "Be careful of the burial stones. I don't want to haul you back to Jorrvaskr on my back."

Draugr had walked out from their places in the walls interrupting Farkas. Katraya's new sword and dagger sung out in joy as their blades met with the decaying flesh of the undead, though it wasn't as satisfying as taking a true life.

The female Redguard had always been aware of her darker desires, the death of warm flesh and blood – at first, it had scared her, but the inhabitants of Hammerfell had mostly shared her craving. The warriors of Skyrim didn't seem to mind, either.

The Companions had also shared the Redguard disgust of magic and spells, although these Draugr loved to use their frost and magicka.

Katraya had knelt down and opened the Draugr's pouch, taking the deceased's gold into her own pouch.

"What are you doing?" asked Farkas.

"Well if we're not being paid…" replied the girl, observing the different gems they held and admiring them in the light.

* * *

The Shield-Siblings entered a spacious stone cracked room, vines growing over every surface. They tread carefully down the crumbling steps.

"So, what is Wuuthrad?" Katraya had been so excited at the thought of bloodshed that she had forgotten the actual reason they had come to the crypt.

"Ysgramor was the hero who started the Companions. Wuuthrad was his weapon. He came from the ancient homeland and killed all the elves. But not all of them, because some of them are still here."

"Sounds like my kind of man," deadpanned the girl.

Farkas walked towards the gated arch on the far side of the room, searching for a lever or a chain to pull. "The lever must be somewhere else."

"There," the girl spotted a lever inside the only pocket room she could enter. She sheathed her weapons and strode toward it. She pulled on the lever, heaving it over to the other side. The gate closed behind her.

"Damn it to Oblivion," she hissed under her breath, angry that she had been outsmarted by an inanimate object, and humiliated that Farkas the famous dimwit had been standing freely on the other side.

Farkas approached the metal gate, smirking at his Shield-Sister. "Now look what you've gotten yourself into. No worries, just sit tight. I'll find a release."

Katraya was about to make a snide remark when a shadow moved across the walls behind him.

"Look out!"

A group of warriors with their weapons gripped tight came up behind her Shield-Brother. "It's time to die, dog," taunted one of the more courageous men.

The group closed in on Farkas, a circle of blades pointed at his throat.

"Killing you will make for an excellent story."

"None of you will be alive to tell it," snarled Farkas.

He dropped his greatsword, the metal clanging on the stony floor. His body arched and bent like a man possessed. Katraya watched in terror as she watched her friend become tainted by these Necromancers forcing a dark spirit into his body.

Suddenly Farkas grew tall and wide, fur sprouting from his legs and arms, his feet growing twice their size. His ears grew long and pointed, his nose extended, his teeth developing into sharp fangs. These men were no Necromancers, Katraya realized. They were werewolf hunters. And they had come to hunt their prey.

Dark smog engulfed the werewolf, his head pulling back as a howl flowed from the beast's jaws.

The warriors started their thrashing at the wolf, slicing and striking, but each attack simply recoiled from the beast's thick skin. The wolf swung its claws at the throats of the men, blood sputtering and staining the dusty floor.

When the last body fell to the floor like a child's ragdoll, the beast ran towards the now open gateway. Katraya's gate shook violently before slowly lifting, leaving her an open escape from her cell.

But she was motionless, fixed from a mix of fear for the beast and fear for her friend's safety. She finally released the breath she had been holding since the Silver Hand had first appeared. Her hand shaking, she unsheathed her sword and held it out defensively.

Farkas reappeared, looking the same as before they had entered the crypt.

"I hope I didn't scare ya," he said, completely unaware of his friend's shock. Katraya was glad she had her hood to hide behind.

"Well that was… different," Katraya finally managed to say, her voice wavering.

Farkas simply let out a low chuckle, completely unfazed by the whole situation.

Katraya bit back the spiteful remarks that automatically appeared in her mind, not wanting to upset the only friend she had in Tamriel.

"We should get moving," Farkas said, holding his hand out to Katraya, helping her out of her cell. She shook her legs awake and walked past him, feeling a cold chill sliver down her spine.

Of course, the only friend she had would be a monster. And if Farkas was a werewolf, there was no doubt that the rest of the Circle were werewolves, too.

An image of the Circle in their beast forms tearing her body apart made her shudder.

* * *

The Redguard kept her distance from Farkas, silent through her inner turmoil. He knew something was wrong with his Shield-Sibling, but he also knew that he was the reason for her distress.

Farkas had proven to be a good friend to Katraya, and his company was enjoyable even though his mind wasn't the sharpest of blades. But watching him savagely rip the hearts from the Silver Hand warriors would haunt her nightmares for weeks.

Katraya entered the final room of the crypt, an intense feeling of energy leading her to the wall at the end of the room. She approached the wall of words, similar to the one she had encountered when she retrieved the Dragonstone. Captivated by the call of the word, she moved towards it, her eyes looking but unseeing, her fingers tracing the marks on the wall. The language of dragons was laid before her.

_Yol_. The word echoed in her mind, but its meaning was unfathomable to her.

"Here's the fragment of Wuuthrad. Let's head back to Jorrvaskr- "

Suddenly a heavy door of stone crashed onto the floor behind them, a skeleton emerging from it's slumber.

"Here we go again," muttered Farkas.

Katraya was still entranced by the Word of Power calling to her, unaware of the room she stood in.

Farkas decapitated the skeleton, its skull flying to the floor and the body falling apart instantly. Farkas looked back over his shoulder.

"Katraya?"

More Draugr came out from their deathbeds, groaning from their years in rest. Farkas dipped out of the arrow paths, running toward the undead archers, thrusting his sword into their rotten flesh.

Katraya still did not move. And an Overlord was striding toward her.

Farkas sprinted toward his Shield-Sister, not wanting to bring back another deceased body back to Jorrvaskr – especially not this one.

He growled, a war cry ripped from his throat has he struck the Overlord. It's head spun, twisting around on its body and glowering at the Nord.

"_Fus Ro Dah!_"

Farkas lost his balance and the force hit him in the chest, struggling to root his feet into the ground. The Overlord stomped toward the warrior as he scuffled to regain his balance. He attacked with all his power once again, thrusting his sword straight through the body and lifting it up from the ground, and ripped the sword out from the putrid corpse as it became lifeless once more.

"It's time to leave," he said as he pulled his unresponsive Shield-Sibling toward the exit. More Draugr escaped their coffins, charging toward the warriors. Farkas tried to fight them off, striking the ones behind him with his blade and thumping the ones in front with the base of the hilt. Katraya was still zoned out from the battle, as if her spirit had transported elsewhere.

An ancient arrow pierced her skin and brought her back to the room, blinking out the trance of the Thu'um. She felt the tight sweaty grip of Farkas on her arm and jerked herself out from his grasp, reaching for her weapons.

"Welcome back," he said, his voice flat.

The two Companions fought back to back against the horde of the undead.

"I can't even see an exit!" Katraya exclaimed.

"There," Farkas pointed to an empty coffin with no back. Katraya sprinted up the wooden makeshift log stairs and plunged her sword into a Draugr's head, its body falling to a pile on the floor. She took out her hunting bow and aimed at the undead limping towards Farkas.

An arrow narrowly missed the end of his nose.

"Watch it!"

She aimed again, this time the arrow diving through the skull of the enemy.

The two worked together to defeat the mob – Farkas heaving his greatsword cutting the Draugr's like a knife through butter, as Katraya knocked back the enemy with her arrows. As the final foe collapsed to the ground, Farkas wiped back the sweat from his forehead, taking a swig of water from his hip flask.

"I don't want to stay here any longer than we need to. Not with the Silver Hand on our tail."

Katraya nodded, hesitating to head for the exit.

"I think…"

Farkas looked up at Katraya, his head tilted to the side. _Like a dog_, she thought. Shame resonated through her.

"You showed me something about you – a secret, I suppose," she didn't know where she was going, but it felt right to be saying out loud. "So now that I am your Shield-Sibling, I feel that I should share mine."

Farkas watched the Redguard confused. She pulled back her hood and ruffled her long fringe, pushing it back and looking up in earnest at the Nord.

"You have white eyes," he stated.

"Blue," she corrected. He didn't seem to be understanding. "Redguards don't often have blue eyes."

Farkas began to comprehend what she was trying to say. "You're a half breed."

"Yes." She let her hair flop back down.

"Is that why you wear that hood?"

"Yes." The two stood in silent for a moment. She had never had a reason to open up to anyone before, and it was harder than she had thought it would be. _But if I can kill a dragon, and I damn well do this_, she thought.

"My father is a Breton and a powerful sorcerer. The people in Hammerfell didn't like us much. So I cover it up. They wouldn't let me become a true warrior because of it." Her voice cracked, and she didn't want to continue her story. It was enough for one day. She scuffed her boots on the floor, a nervous habit she had developed since leaving Hammerfell.

"The Companions don't care what you are. All that matters is the strength of your arm and the fire in your heart." Farkas empathised with the girl. Many warriors had come to the Companions looking for a place of refuge and many had found it during his time there.

"You don't have to cover up in Jorrvaskr. It's your home."

"Forget I said anything," Katraya said embarrassed, turning to leave, the emotional moment overwhelming her usual resentful personality. She was becoming too soft in this man's presence.

She punched the wall as she left, the pain a reminder of why she had left Hammerfell in the first place.

* * *

The Companions dragged their weary feet up the steps to Jorrvaskr, the day coming to a close already. Katraya's legs cried for rest whilst her sword rejoiced in blood.

"The others will be waiting for us out back," Farkas said.

The pair made their way past the Skyforge and out to the training dummies, where Kodlak, Skjor, Aela and Vilkas stood in a semi-circle waiting for their fellow Companions. Katraya approached tentatively. The soft ambient glow of the flickering flame torches danced on the faces of the Circle awaiting Katraya.

Kodlak smiled upon the newest member of the Companions. "Brothers and Sisters of the Circle, today we welcome a new soul into our mortal hold. This woman has endured, has challenged and has showed her valour. Who will speak for her?"

"I stand witness for the courage of the soul before us," Farkas' voice was soft, a hint of affection slipping into his words.

"Would you raise your shield in her defence?"

"I would stand at her back, that the world might never overtake us." Katraya blushed.

"And would you raise your sword in her honour?" replied Kodlak.

"It stands ready to meet the blood of her foes." The image of his beast form invaded her mind and chilled her.

"And would you raise a mug in her name?"

"I would lead the song in triumph as our mead hall revelled in her stories," Farkas answered.

"Then this judgement of this Circle is complete. Her heart beats with fury and courage that have united the Companions since the days of the distant green summers. Let it beat with ours, so the mountains may echo and our enemies may tremble at the call."

"It shall be so," recited the rest of the Circle.

Kodlak advanced towards the new Companion. "Well, girl, you're one of us now. I trust you won't disappoint." His aging face spread into a smile as the rest of the group dispersed.

"Can I ask you a personal question? Are you all werewolves, like Farkas?"

"I see you've been allowed to know some secrets before your appointed time," Kodlak was less than enthusiastic, his face a scowl. "Yes, it's true. Not every Companion, no, only members of the Circle all share the blood of the beast. Some take to it more than others."

Katraya responded hesitantly, "And what about you? What do you think?"

"Well, I grow old. My mind turns towards the horizon, to Sovngarde. I worry that Shor won't call an animal warrior as he would a true Nord warrior. Living as beasts draws our souls closer to the Daedric lord, Hircine. Some may prefer eternity in his hunting grounds, but I crave the fellowship of Sovngarde."

"I see," replied Katraya. She handed Kodlak the fragment of Wuuthrad.

"Thank you, Sister. I think now I shall take my leave." The elder returned to the mead hall and joined the others.

* * *

Katraya and Aela returned from their hunting trip the next day, the two warriors more at ease with each other's presence now that Katraya had formally been recognized as a Companion. Skjor waited patiently inside Jorrvsaskr for the women to return.

"You wanted to see me?" asked Katraya.

The torches of Jorrvaskr softly lit the wooden beams and patterns of the walls, a mild glow accenting the weary faces of the Companions who sat in their chairs, scoffing their food. Katraya lifted her gathered pelts onto a space on the table, the trophies of her hunting session with Aela. She still found the woman intimidating and downright terrifying, but she valued the demand of respect she wore as an aura. Plus she couldn't deny the Nord had an admirable skill in archery – simply shooting with her improved her own abilities.

"Yes, I have something special for you," Skjor stood tall in his Wolf armour, but his mouth was thinner than usual, a sign of withheld secrets. "But it's not for everyone to hear. Meet me in the Underforge tonight. We will speak more."

"Why wait? I'm free, you're free. After we could go for dinner and a show," Katraya smirked. She shimmied to Njada's place at the table and winked at the woman when she looked up at her and scowled.

Skjor's face remained serious. He grabbed the Redguard's blue sash and pulled the girl abruptly to her, the hood shadowing her face falling backwards. "You look like a goat with your mouth hung open like that, girl."

Katraya quickly pulled her hood back into position before any of the whelps could see her Breton-like features. She pushed away the wrinkled hand that clutched onto her armour, brushing off the tension that lingered between the two warriors.

"Not now. The Underforge, _tonight_," Skjor uttered to the brazen girl before skulking out of Jorrvaskr.

A low hum of murmurs and cutlery scraping plates returned to the room.

Katraya turned to look at Njada, "I guess that's a no to dinner than," she shrugged.

"No one in their right mind would want to court filth like you," Njada spat, specks of her meal flying from her mouth as she spoke.

Katraya edged closer to the girl, a predator to her prey. "In some parts of Tamriel, being unkind can be taken as a sign of love. I think you want to court me, Njada."

The Nord woman shuffled in her chair and turned to her foe, glaring at her rival through her dark lashes, and lowered her voice.

"I'd rather woo a mudcrab than a half-breed Redguard."

Njada's snide remark caught Katraya off guard, her stomach twisted and her body began to sweat as she glowered at the Nord. Njada felt no remorse, and resumed her dinner in content knowing she had silenced the impertinent new blood.

Her dinner plate propelled through the air, narrowly missing a dazed Aela as she entered the front doors of Jorrvaskr, the remains of chicken meat and cabbage scattered on the rough wooden floor.

Katraya marched away to the living quarters, the rest of the Companions barely acknowledging the actions of the permanently wrathful Redguard who now resided in their home.

* * *

Katraya lay down on her bed, her leather cowl resting on her storage chest. There was no point hiding her secret now that everybody seemed to know. No doubt because of Vilkas. She cradled her sword like a lute, rubbing the metal with a scrap of blooded cloth, occasionally spitting on the steel to make it shine.

"You're not cleaning it properly." A looming Farkas stood in the doorway, watching over his brooding friend.

"I don't care," replied Katraya, spitting on the sword again to reiterate her point.

"You should ignore Njada. She is just protecting herself," his voice was deep and gravelly, "kind of reminds me of someone else I know."

The Redguard stopped buffing her weapon and lolled her head towards the doorway. "What do you want?"

"Skjor is waiting for you in the courtyard. I wouldn't keep him waiting."

Katraya groaned and pulled herself upwards, sitting on the bed like a homely sabre cat. She handed Farkas her sword, "If I'm so bad at polishing my weapons maybe you should do it."

The great Nord laughed, "And what's in it for me?"

"When it's clean again you can watch me stain it with Njada's blood."

* * *

The vivid sky auroras danced among the moons that watched Katraya that night. The air was electric, a sense of danger adrift on the breeze.

"Are you prepared?" asked Skjor. The two Companions stood stiffly outside of the Underforge, a secret space underneath the Skyforge that held equally as secret meetings for the Circle.

"You didn't exactly give me much to go on earlier. I don't know what we're doing," Katraya said.

"This isn't a test. This is a gift. Come inside." The door slid open, a slight gap wide enough for each warrior to enter, and closed again quickly.

An empty fountain rested in the centre of the small earthy room. A beast stood behind it, the large frame curved forwards so as it fit inside the tiny room. The jet black werewolf dwarfed Skjor.

"I'm glad you came. It's been a long time since we had a heart like yours among our numbers," he stood beside the wolf beast. "That pitiful ceremony behind the hall does not befit warriors like us. You are due more honour than some calls and feasting. I would hope you recognize Aela, even in this form." He glanced at Aela's beast form, a shimmer of admiration in his eyes. "She's agreed to be your forebear. We do this in secret because Kodlak is too busy trying to throw away this great gift we've been granted. He thinks we've been cursed. But we've been blessed. How can something that gives this kind of prowess be a curse? So we take matters into our own hands. To reach the heights of the Companions, you must join with us in the shared blood of the wolf."

Katraya stood near the exit of the room, her eyes observing and evaluating the two Companions. Kodlak had been the next best thing to a father, guiding her and protecting the girl. He was trying to remove the disease – would joining the Companions in this form be a mistake?

But Aela was a ferocious warrior, proud and one of the most respected members of the Companions. She stood before the Redguard now, bare and exposed in her fierce bulk of a beast, her fangs threatening a gruesome death. She was certainly an impressive creature to look at.

"Are you prepared to join your spirit with the beast world, friend?"

Of course, accepting the blood would mean she could never journey to the Far Shores and join with her mother. Her spirit would forever hunt with Hircine in his realm of Oblivion. For some people - like Aela - this was a dream. But Katraya was still young and didn't know where she wanted to go after death.

Her mind shifted to Farkas and his werewolf form at Dustman's Cairn. She had feared him immensely when she had watched him eat the hearts of the Silver Hand in front of her. In her mind she had named him a monster – ironic considering that she had been called "monster" more than she could count in Hammerfell. Were the two Companions really so different? What would her father think of her if she said yes?

Her father would be disgusted and repulsed.

"I'll do it," Katraya finally gave her answer, an intense heat overtaking her body as she thought of her father in rage.

Aela huffed in delight at the Redguard's answer.

"Very well," Skjor unsheathed his sword. He gently held the beast's paw and sliced the thick skin, crimson blood dripping into the shallow fountain.

"The blood calls, sister, and waits for you to drink from the fountain."

Katraya took a step toward the blood of the wolf, the smell pungent and strong. Spilling blood was one thing, but drinking it was a different thing entirely. The scene was perverse and sick.

_But necessary_, the thought arose as quickly as it had disappeared, the origin of the notion a puzzle. She forced herself to taste the blood before she became rational and changed her mind. _I'm doing this to become closer to my new family, my _true_ family_, she convinced herself.

The blood dribbled from her mouth, staining her armour. She felt the same.

"I don't understand. Nothing is-"

The taste of bile rose through her throat as her body warred with the invading blood of the beast. She began to lose control of her muscles, her body involuntarily sweating and moving. She reached out to the edge of the fountain to try and regain control.

"Easy girl," a voice called out to her through the haze of her fever. Her head hung down, her pupils contracting and expanding as the fever took over her being. Screams of pain ripped from her convulsing body as she fell to her knees. Dark, thick, tangled fur broke the surface of her skin. A comforting hand grazed her shoulder, reaching out to her.

Her body surrendered to the disease as she fell into darkness.

* * *

For the next week, Katraya had endured the same dream every night.

It started with drinking beast blood, deteriorating into a feverish pile of flesh on the cold stone floor of the Underforge – the ritual enforced by Aela and Skjor that had changed her life and transformed her into a monstrous werewolf; a servant of the Daedric Prince, Hircine.

After the conversion, images of Whiterun lit under the Bloodmoon and Brenuin running away intruded the dream, the beggar stumbling from the alcohol poisoning his blood stream. The Gildergreen tree loomed over the centre of the Wind District, its branches dry like bones. Secunda the small moon peered behind Dragonsreach timidly.

The swiftness of the giant padded paws unlocked a feral instinct within her, sprinting across the highland landscape. Wolves joined the hunting party beside her, predators to the feeble Skyrim elk.

And once the animalistic drive had taken over her being, everything else had become a blur.

The sun rising in the East behind the Throat of the World. Aela's inviting her to a special hunt at Gallows Rock. Her first time eating the heart of a human. Skjor's fur riddled body lying still on a wooden table. Aela holding back her tears with raw rage. Dozens of bodies scattering the many rooms of the fort.

Every night Katraya relived the savagery of the night of Skjor's death. Every day she helped Aela with her revenge against the Silver Hand. They had raided a settlement a day. For her, it was the raw primal urge to fight and paint the earth with the blood of her foes that drove her to each camp; for the Nord huntress it was a void in her soul that had needed to be sealed, a blaze that needed to be fanned.

Katraya stepped into Jorrvaskr, escaping the flurry of snow that had started to fall over Whiterun. Ria spotted the Dragonborn ruffling the snow from her fringe that shadowed her face, holding something behind her back.

"I have something for you, Shield-Sister," Ria's overly joyful smile irritated the warrior.

Katraya looked beside her and behind her – but no one else was there. "Me?"

"Yes, you," Ria continued to beam at Katraya, playfully prodding the windswept warrior.

"Okay," no one had ever been so cheerful over her arrival before, and the situation more than baffled her. She brushed off the non-existent mark that Ria had left on her armour.

"Ta-dah!" Ria brought out a plate of sweet rolls from behind her back.

Katraya salivated at the sight. "For me?" she reiterated. She barely tolerated the company of the Companions, but gifts like these could make her reconsider her affections. "But... why?"

"For your birthday, of course!"

"My _birthday_?" Katraya's eyes widened, her eyebrows arching as high as Dragonsreach. She turned away quickly, counting the months on her gloved fingers. By the Eight, she was right.

Katraya spun around to meet Ria, her face contorted into a quizzical look, her eyes narrowing. "How did you know it was my birthday? Are you a witch?" Katraya leaned in closer to the Nord, "are you a Hagraven?"

"Hagraven? By the Nine, of course not! You told me your birthday!"

"I told you my birthday," Katraya snorted. "I would never tell any of you spineless whelps my birthday."

"You tell us every time you consume a drop of mead," Ria replied dryly.

_Oh_.

Ria pulled out the Redguard's hands in front of her and dropped the plate of sweet rolls into her hands, planting a kiss on her frozen cheek as she left, and picking up a glass of wine on her way out.

"Welcome back, Sister," Aela greeted Katraya with a sly grin, slapping her shoulder with a great force making the Redguard lose her balance, almost dropping her plate of treats. Aela grabbed her arm and pulled the girl next to her, leaning into her ear.

"Wait, Aela. I need to talk to you. About my transformations," she had whispered the last word as low as she could.

"Later. There is more work to be done, but I fear Kodlak's gotten wind of our efforts. He's asked to see you. My advice? Always be honest with the old man, but don't tell him anything he doesn't need to know."

Aela dropped a pouch of gold into Katraya's back pocket as Kodlak approached, winking at the girl as she to train in the courtyard.

The old man approaching her held his shoulders back, his beard shaggier than normal. "Ah, you have returned. A word, if I may?" he gestured to the stairway leading to the living quarters.

She placed her birthday treat onto the dining table, sending the other Companions warning looks as she left. "Don't touch my sweet rolls_,_" she said, her eyes fixated on the plate. Farkas smirked as her shoulders disappeared under the floorboards, he stood standing next to her plate of goodies, clutching a sugary treat in his hand and taunting her with it. "_Don't touch my damn sweet rolls!_" she yelled at him, unable to leave the Harbinger's side.

* * *

Kodlak guided the young warrior to the end of the living quarters, a small room next to his own. The same room she had entered when she had joined the Companions.

He sat down in the most worn chair of the two at the small round table, waving his hand to the other chair. "Take a seat." She sat down, respecting the elder, the only Companion who held any real value in his words in her eyes.

"I hear you've been busy of late."

Her gaze averted his own. "I've been working for the honour of the Companions."

"Lass, I know what you've been up to." His voice was heavy with a patience that had worn thin. "Mind you, it's no business of mine what each Companion does in the name of honour. But this sneaking around, it doesn't befit warriors of your standing. Aela knows better, and so should you."

Katraya sniffed at the old man's words, absorbing the meaning of his words. He had a point – she shouldn't have to lie about her accomplishments to her Shield-Siblings. It had begun to cause physical pain at the thought of not sharing her tales of blood and gore – she missed making Ria and Tilma flinch at the details of her bloodshed. But Aela had always been around to subtly shake her head and scowl at the girl, and Katraya had always huffed and sunk lower into her seat, muttering curses under her breath.

"Now, for the real reason that I have brought you here. I have a task for you."

Katraya looked at him, surprised that he trusted her with something that she assumed was important.

"Have you ever heard how the Companions came to be werewolves?"

Katraya shook her head, but looked back when she remembered Skjor's words. "Skjor said it was a blessing from Hircine."

"Aye, that sounds like him. As in all matters of faith, though, the reality is more complicated than one believer would tell you." Kodlak opened a bottle of mead as he prepared himself to tell the true story of the disease. "The Companions are nearly five thousand years old. This matter of beast blood has only troubled us for a few hundred. One of my predecessors was a good, but short-sighted man. He made a bargain with the witches of Glenmoril Coven. If the Companions would hunt in the name of their lord, Hircine, we would be granted great power."

"So they became werewolves," Katraya said.

"They did not believe the change would be permanent. The witches offered payment, like anyone else. But we had been deceived."

"The witches didn't lie, of course. But it's more than our bodies. The disease, you see, affects not just our bodies. It seeps into the spirit. Upon death, werewolves are claimed by Hircine for his Hunting Grounds. For some, this is a paradise. They want nothing more than to chase prey with their master for eternity. And that is their choice. But I am still a true Nord. And I wish for Sovngarde as my spirit home." His mind drifted away from Jorrvaskr.

"Is there a cure?" Katraya asked, bringing the Harbinger back to Whiterun.

"That's what I've spent my twilight years trying to find out. And now I've found the answer. The witches' magic ensnared us, and only their magic can release us. They won't give it willingly, but we can extract their foul powers by force. I want you to seek them out. Go to their coven in the wilderness. Strike them down as a true warrior of the wild. And bring me their heads. The seat of their abilities. From there, we may begin to undo centuries of impurity."

Katraya nodded at his noble request. She had no sarcastic response for his task. Life after Nirn was important to most mortals. A way out of her own disease was becoming necessary, too.

"I'll do it."

"Thank you, Lass. It's not far from Falkreath. Take your rest there. And one more thing."

Katraya stood from her seat.

"Collect some heads for the twins and yourself. I think perhaps the Dragonborn has enough on her plate as well as having the beast blood within her."

Katraya barred herself from looking back at the old man. He had worked out her secret – or perhaps he has always known? Either way, it wasn't long until the others figured out her true identity, too.

Kodlak handed the girl a letter. "This came for you today. Good luck."

She opened the letter - sealed with a stamp she didn't recognize. Not another Jarl, then.

As she read the letter, her face became paler, her stomach knotting intensely as she read each word.

Her Breton father was in Skyrim.

* * *

**Notes**

_Shadow182__: Thankyou so much for your continued support, it means so much to me! Your reviews are so lovely!_

_Thankyou to everyone who has favourited and followed so far - I didn't expect my FF to even be seen so it's a really nice suprise to log in and see that people are enjoying my story_

_As for publishing, I won't be able to update as often as I would like. I've edited the chapters to make them longer and want to keep the chapter length. Sorry for any confusion!_

_Again, thankyou for all of the support and I hope to see you soon!_


	3. Chapter 3

_Disclaimer: This fanfiction is based on the game The Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim, created by Bethesda Game Studios and published by Bethesda Softworks, and I do not own any of the characters. Please note also some of the dialogue is taken from the game itself to make this fanfiction feel true to the complex and beautiful world of Skyrim. Please enjoy._

* * *

Katraya had already eaten half of her food on her journey – the hunger of the Dragonborn could never quite be satisfied. She had counted what she had eaten at Riverwood: two apples, a grilled chicken breast, four pieces of bread, a block of cheese and a handful of lettuce leaves. The boredom from travelling had spurred on the feast.

Falkreath had been the place where she had aimed to arrive when she left Hammerfell, but instead she had been taken by the Imperial forces and taken to Helgen to be murdered. In their eyes, it had been just; but she was innocent, and their actions had been a crime. A crime she had not forgotten about. But there was nothing she could do whilst being part of the Companions; they made a point of not getting involved with political situations. A hit on the Imperials or Stormcloaks would surely be examined as a Companion taking a political agenda.

The town was considerably less homely than the city she had grown accustomed to. Most paths were made of dirt and the roofs of each building were built with straw. _Very weak to a dragon attack_, Katraya mused to herself, adrenaline filling her veins as she recalled the battle at the Watchtower. It felt like years had passed since that day.

The sun began to set over the forest of pine trees, a slight drizzle of rain resting upon the city of straw. Katraya stood outside Dead Man's Drink, her eyes narrowing at the lack of drunkards making a commotion inside the inn. The quiet nature of the town unsettled her. Raindrops dripped from the point of her hood, trickling down to her nose.

An Imperial woman opened the door to the inn, throwing a pale of dirty water towards the Redguard. "Sorry, Love," she called out an apology. "Didn't see you there."

Katraya blinked at the innkeeper, stepping away from the liquid filth.

"You coming in?" the Imperial beckoned to the weary traveller.

Katraya realized she had been standing outside of the inn idly for a while, the chill damp invading her skin.

She followed the innkeeper inside. Only a few travellers sat inside the inn, quietly resting and warming their selves by the fire in the centre of the room, hiding their faces. Katraya sat herself at the last solitary table on the edge of the room.

A few of the townspeople sat with sorrowful faces, drinking ale and holding onto each other's shoulders in comfort.

"That Sinding is a monster. I can't believe he tried to place the blame on a _wolf_."

"He will hang for his crimes," another man consoled the woman.

_A werewolf_? Katraya pondered.

"A room for the night is ten gold. Interested?" asked the innkeeper. Katraya nodded, dropping a pouch of money into her hand.

"A hot meal too."

The Imperial scurried into her kitchen.

A bard sat with the warriors by the fire, and noticing Katraya's Stormcloak apparel, he picked up his lute and cleared his throat.

"_We drink to our youth, to days come and gone. For the age of aggression is just about done_."

Katraya turned her head slightly to watch the bard.

"_We'll drive out the Stormcloaks and restore what we own. With our blood and our steel we'll take back our home."_

Katraya leaned back in her seat and swivelled to face the bard and laughed. "That's real mature. Singing for the Imperials because I wear Stormcloak armour?"

The bard stopped his strumming. "I don't know what you're talking about, miss. I keep songs in my heart to ward off the gloom." He began to pick at the strings of his lute again.

"_Down with Ulfric the killer of kings. On the day of your death we'll drink and we'll sing."_

"If you're going to sing at least play something less depressing," she snarled.

"And what would you suggest, _Stormcloak_," a Nord woman spat at the Redguard intruder.

The offense that these people took to her armour amused Katraya. "I've always liked the tale of Ragnar the Red. Well actually, I like Matilda, the maiden of the song. Sounds like a woman I would be fond of."

"We can listen to whatever songs we like. If you object, go elsewhere."

Katraya took a septim from her pouch of gold and twirled it between her fingers, watching the flicker of fire light bounce from the metal in her hand. "Last time I checked, I was a paying customer."

"Don't bother, Narri," said the innkeeper to her assistant, heading over to Katraya with a plate of food. She rested the meal on her table, giving a polite smile at the Redguard. Katraya took the goat's leg and tore a chunk from the bone, glaring at Narri as she did so. The Nord scowled and turned away to watch the uncomfortable bard.

He continued with his song.

"_We're the children of Skyrim, and we fight all our lives. And when Sovngarde beckons, every one of us dies…_"

The inn door creaked open, a welcome distraction for the other travellers that sat among the hostile inhabitants of the inn. A man of average height and slim build donned a set of dusty Vigilant of Stendarr robes, the open door a gateway for a damp wind to enter the wooden inn. The man held himself rigid and straight – a foreigner, perhaps.

The mage approached the innkeeper. "You've returned. Would you like your room for another night?"

"I'm looking for someone," the man replied in a low voice, sounding younger than he appeared. The visitors of the inn sat in weary silence as the bard played an instrumental piece on his lute, the grieving couple crying softly to each other.

"You haven't perhaps seen a young Redguard girl…"

Katraya froze in her seat, staring wide eyed at the plate of half-eaten food on the table before her. She peered at the mage under her hood, her throat dry and her muscles strained in tension.

The innkeeper blinked at the man, her eyes shifting slowly to the girl sitting solitary on the other side of the inn. The mage turned his head, observing the hooded figure in the corner.

He turned to the innkeeper, leaving a few septims for the Imperial woman, and hesitantly walked toward the tense figure in the corner.

"Hello, Katraya."

The Redguard ignored the Vigilant who towered of her bowed form. He grabbed her shoulder. "Daughter," he breathed.

Her knife was by his wrist in a moment, hidden by his robe sleeve. "I am not your daughter. Not anymore."

"You can't escape your heritage," he replied, a statement she had never once forgotten.

Katraya removed her weapon from the man as the innkeeper eyed the two anxiously.

"If you really want to talk I will humour you outside."

"I would feel much safer here with Valga and Narri watching over us."

"Oh, really?"

Katraya stood from her seat, her chair falling over crashing to the floor, leaving her trail of wrath in her wake as she left the inn. Her old man was nervous, and rightfully so.

The rain continued its mild drizzle, the mud entangling with the fur of her boots as she stepped upon the dirt track, her hands gripping the hilt of her weapons.

Her father left the inn, a lost look on the pale middle aged face, his lips dry at the turn this encounter had taken. He stared at his daughter, a sadness filling his eyes and every shallow wrinkle on his face. Katraya stared back, the embodiment of impatience.

"Well, I'm here," she gestured with her arms wide, taunting the Vigilant. "What do you want, oh Father dearest?"

He stepped toward her cautiously, his body tight and rigid. "I just want my daughter back."

Katraya scowled. "You lost your daughter the day of Elinhir."

"You know that wasn't my fault. You saw the man. Hardly a man at all – a Daedra! I know you saw him!"

"I don't care what you have to say you delusional old fool," Katraya stormed forward like a sabre cat to its prey. "The fact that you can't even accept responsibility for your actions is sickening. Your words tar my mother's memory – your _wife's_ memory." She barely left a gap in her speech for him to counter. "If that is all you have to say to me then this was surely a wasted trip and an uncultivated journey. Now leave, and never seek me out again, Tristyne."

His eyes bored into his daughter's, an anger born from frustration rising within him. He had spent weeks looking for his daughter, and this was his reception. After all they had gone through, this is how she chose to greet him. Only a steel dagger defined the distance between the broken bond of a father and daughter.

"Come back to Hammerfell. Come back home."

"This is my home. I am a daughter of Skyrim now."

"I am your father and you are _my _daughter, you disobedient child!"

His words pushed Katraya over the edge, her dagger nicking at Tristyne's thin clothing and biting his skin; his battle instincts took over his being, and a flare of flames threw Katraya from him to the mud of Falkreath.

He stood, absorbing his actions, staring at Katraya lying on the floor, clawing herself onto her knees and pasting mud onto a burn on her face to cool the heat.

Katraya slowly began to laugh, bemusing the Breton.

"What?"

"Don't you see? You still haven't learnt your lesson from Elinhir," she climbed onto one of her knees, trying to suck in the air that had been knocked from her lungs. "But I guess killing your wife with your putrid magic wasn't enough. Had to come and murder your daughter, too."

"That's not why I came-"

"Isn't it?" Katraya stood tall and strong, her weapons firmly in her grasp, a dragon's rage gushing through her veins. "Don't just stand there. Finish the job."

She stood, waiting for his attack.

He made no movement.

Her impatience outgrew her taunt as she thrashed forwards with her sword and dagger. The Breton cast a ward to protect himself against the animal that thirsted for his blood.

A great wave of energy blasted Katraya back, but she was prepared for the warning shot of magicka he fired at her, digging her boots into the mud as an anchor, crossing her weapons and conjuring her own ward.

_Fight fire with fire_, she mused as she sheathed her weapons, tapping into her pool of magicka for the first time in years.

Tristyne lowered his defence as he watched Katraya put her weapons away – only to ward himself once more as a bolt of blazing flames jolted toward him.

She had grown more powerful since their last sparring match, he noticed.

He fired his own flames at the girl – his spells more concentrated and refined, but not powerful enough to cause any true harm. Katraya's spells were raw and threatening with nothing held back; nothing that his mastered wards couldn't handle. He waited for his daughter to tire or run out of magicka.

At last she grew tired of his defensive stance and fired her largest ball of blazing heat, using all of her magicka – and finally shattered his ward, making him stumble backwards.

An Imperial guard intervened with the battle of flames. "If you want to stay in Falkreath another day I suggest you stop with this magic nonsense. It scares people."

"Fine," Katraya growled, swinging her bag onto her back and turning to leave.

"Where are you going?" Tristyne called after her.

"Nowhere of your concern. Do not try to follow me," she replied, leaving the Breton dumbfounded, alone in the mud and the cold and the wet.

* * *

Katraya ate the last of her birthday sweet rolls, fantasizing about drinking a cool bottle of mead in the Bannered Mare with her fellow Companions. Though to be honest, anything would beat the night she was having.

She slogged through the squelching earth beneath her boots, the branches of the tall and aged trees dripping the last of the rainfall onto her hair. Her hood was saturated from the storm that had grown the further she travelled from the town of Falkreath, and away from her father.

She cast her mind back to their battle. She was ashamed and disgusted that she had used her magicka after she had vowed to herself she would never touch even a spell tome after her mother's death. Seeing Tristyne had brought back all the memories she had tried to repress.

The beast inside of her had awoken, too, at the fury and loathing that had stirred when he had entered the inn. It was a struggle to stifle the wolf in fear that unleashing it she would have endangered the other citizens. Killing warriors and the undead was one thing – but she was pretty certain that killing innocents was against her own and the Companions' moral codes.

The night auroras began their dance in the starry sky, keeping her company as she trudged through the dirt toward the Hagraven's lair; a rustle of a bush close by startled Katraya from her reverie, her hands gliding to the hilts of the weapons in response. A wolf howled in the distance.

Something wasn't right.

It wasn't the usual call of a wolf – the howl was deeper, and vibrated through the trees around her. It called to the beast inside of her – the beast that had been growing wilder and less tameable as the days went on. Drinking the blood of the wolf had not been as rewarding as she had hoped.

Memories of human hearts and ravaged flesh invaded her mind, disturbing her focus on the strange beast howl. She shook her head, shaking her mind of the perverse images that filled it.

She drew her weapons as she twisted and turned, trying to locate the source of the call. If it was a wolf, it would be fast. If it was a werewolf, it would be –

Of course it was a werewolf.

She mentally slapped herself for taking so long to make the deduction.

The calls of the beast reached for the wolf inside of Katraya, rousing it to her surface – she bit down on her arm, blood seeping from the wound and pain distracting her mind from the werewolf within her.

The beast appeared through the bushes, its large shadowed form charging toward her, running past her before she could even react, the force of the great wolf casting her to the ground.

She scrambled to her feet, a group of horsemen chasing down the beast, followed by a group of hunters by foot, bows and axes and flaming torches guiding their midnight hunt.

One of the stragglers saw Katraya lying on the ground, smothered in mud. He stretched his free hand out to the Redguard. "I'd bet you fifty septims it was that werewolf that put you there."

"Do you see any other beasts around here?" She retorted, looking up at her helper – a member of the Silver Hand.

"Wait – I know you…"

She attacked the man before he could make the connection – she sliced with her blade, still off balance, knocking the torch from his hand. He withdrew his own battle-axe, a weapon almost as large as the man who carried it.

"Companion!" he growled, two of the other stragglers rescuing their comrade from the monster that stood before them.

_Damn it to Oblivion_, she thought. If she didn't know any better she would think that Nocturnal was influencing her luck tonight.

The man swung his hefty axe, the sharpened blade aiming for her neck – her sword countered the attack, but unable to resist the weight of the weapon she spun away from the Nord, her dagger tracing his jaw, drawing blood from his dark skin. Her sword pierced his leather armour and she leaned into her strike, pushing the blade through deeper into his torso. He cried out in pain as she withdrew the blade as quickly as it had entered, his dense body falling forward onto his knees.

The next hunter approached, a mace and shield in his hands, the moonlight highlighting the nervous sweat gleaming on his forehead. _A new blood_, she smiled. She took a defensive role this time, poised with her sword and dagger like snake fangs. The two warriors circled each other in the dark damp night; she waited for him to gather the confidence to strike, assessing his weak points. These two dimwits were pitiful.

She froze. Hadn't there been three of them?

An arrow shot through the back of her calf, the spear head buried into the muscle. She cried out, falling to her knees. Her weapons dropped into the mud as she grabbed the wooden shaft of the arrow and yanked it from her limb, the pain incomprehensible, and her yells turning to whimpers.

She looked at the arrow she had pulled from her body, the arrow head glistened with a green tint in the moonlight.

The crafty snowback had poisoned her.

"Looks like drinks are on me tonight, boys," the hidden archer called out behind her. She wanted to get up and throttle the shadow warrior – but she was paralysed, completely vulnerable to the Silver Hand.

The nervous one with the shield and mace stepped toward her and swung his weapon over her head.

Her vision turned to darkness.

* * *

Katraya awoke from her involuntary slumber on a wagon.

It was stationary, her vision obscured by a thick blanket drawn over her body and face. She tried to move her limbs, but she was still paralysed. She hears the early morning birds chirping and the Silver Hand whispering. She stretched and moved her fingers, pulling herself from the poison.

The cloth was ripped away, and her eyes contract at the sudden light pouring over her.

"Rise and shine," the battle-axe warriors stood over her, casting a stretching shadow over the length of her wrangled body. He grabbed her armour and pulled her into a sitting position, popped open a potion and forced her to drink it in one. She spluttered onto the man, trying not to drown in the antidote of her poison.

What were they planning?

The wagon and the small band of warriors were parked outside a cave on a mountain. Curious. A female Silver Hand warrior paced toward the wagon, a putrid smell emanating from the bag she held in front of her.

"Just what you asked for," she said to the man.

He turned to Katraya, smirking, taking the bag and opening it.

"For once you're going to be useful for us."

She seriously doubted that.

The warrior dived into the bag, and brought out an organ – a human heart. What would he want with a human heart?

She suddenly understood as the beast instincts within her stirred faster than the antidote was working on her own human muscle. She panicked, not wanting to give herself to the vile wolf that rested inside.

Her body convulsed and juddered, fur sprouting from all of her pores, her teeth growing into fangs as the warriors took their weapons in hand and prepared for the werewolf to attack. A band of the hunters threw chains about her as she continued to transform, vulnerable to their trap.

"Take her in!" shouted Battle-Axe.

The hunters tugged and pulled the heavy beast into the cave. Bodies lied lifeless around a campfire, their cadavers calling to her bloodlust. Her sensitive nose caught onto a foreign scent, another wolf within the grotto. She had completed her transformation, but a small part of her conscience remained intact – perhaps the wolf had also been weakened by the poison?

"That monster is in here somewhere… Spread out. Kill him on sight. And once that bastard is dead, we'll skin this one, too."

So they wouldn't kill her until the other one was dead. She could definitely use this to her advantage.

Battle-Axe took the chains and held them as a leash, leading Katraya through the grotto. The Bloodmoon shone over them, announcing Hircine's presence.

"Use that beastly nose of yours to guide me to Sinding."

Sinding? Hadn't that crying couple in Falkreath mentioned that name? She followed the werewolf's scent, hoping Sinding would take down Battle-Axe. And then Katraya would kill _him _for putting her through this humiliating capture and murdering the girl.

Sinding's threatening form silhouetted against the red moon, his claws poised and ready to leap at the Silver Hand. She pretended not to notice.

He fell from the edge he stood on, his jaws flying towards Battle-Axe's throat. He saw the beast from the corner of his eye, bashing the wolf's head with the handle of his weapons. Katraya ran from her capturer, her chains trailing behind her.

Escape was so close. But her chains gripped onto a fallen log.

_This is so painfully cliché_, she thought to herself, heaving the log from its anchor point. Sinding and Battle-Axe struck each other over and over, but the wolf had a greater reach, slicing the warrior's face, drawing blood from his skin, three claw marks etched into his Nordic features.

She heaved the log free, ready to break away.

An arrow flew past her nose and she bore her teeth in reply. Two archers blocked her getaway route.

She grabbed the chains that grasped her, throwing the log at the two, the force of the wood tossing them into the rocks behind. She swung the log close to the forest floor around her, spiralling closer and closer to Sinding and Battle-axe. She struck the Silver Hand's legs, knocking him backwards. Sinding towered over him and thrust his claw into the man's chest, pulling out his heart.

Katraya flinched and looked away at the reminder of her beastly nature.

"You there. You've come to save me?"

"Not willingly," Katraya retorted. She gestured to the chains that encircled her.

"If we fought together, we could easily take down these awful huntsmen."

"Aren't you the man who killed that little girl in Falkreath?" her voice held a certain bitterness.

"Aye. That I am," he let out a gruff sigh. "Believe me, it wasn't anything I ever intended to do. I just... lost control. I tried to tell them, but none of them believe me. It's all on account of this blasted ring." He held out a tiny silver ring with a wolf's head melded onto it.

"A ring that induces murder? Never heard of such a thing," she retorted. This man was trying to lie about slaughtering a little girl. If the people of Whiterun had met his man, they would consider her a Divine.

"This is the Ring of Hircine. I was told it could let me control my transformations. Perhaps it used to. But I'll never know. Hircine didn't care for my taking it, and threw a curse on it. I put it on... and the changes just came to me. I could never guess when. It would be at the worst times. Like... with the little girl."

Katraya was taken aback by the earnestness in his voice. She had to admit, controlling her own transformations had been more than difficult the longer she endured the disease. The call of hunters from above reminded her of the situation.

"I will help you, if only for my own escape." She didn't want to spend any unnecessary time with the wretched murderer.

Sinding grinned, an image fit for nightmares. "We hunt together."

Katraya dragged her chains and log through the grotto. Arrows soared toward them, embedding their selves into their matte tangled fur. Sinding climbed the rocks to meet his foe, ravaging the archers with his claws and oversized fangs. Katraya trailed behind, hindered by her chains.

_Damn the Divines_, she hissed, frustrated that she held little to no value to the escape. If Sinding left her, she would be vulnerable until she turned back into her Redguard form; and even then, the Silver Hand had taken her weapons and stored them in the wagon outside.

Sinding defeated each enemy, pouncing from each lifeless body to the next, blood painting the greenery red. The few enemies that he missed she managed to attack with her log and sharp teeth, leaving an equally gruesome trail behind her.

They circled the grotto, finally reaching the fireplace as Katraya felt the wolf within her weaken, finally retracting.

She breathed a deep cleansing breath, removing the feel of the beast as she collapsed to the floor naked, the chains falling around her.

"It is done," Sinding finally said, breaking the silence. Katraya refused to thank him.

"You realise I can't leave here with you alive," she said.

A wave of sadness spread through the beast. "I will make my home here, away from anyone I may hurt."

Katraya wasn't convinced.

"You can have this ring. I don't want it anymore. It has caused me enough trouble. I am sure it will serve you better. And of course, I will be in your debt if you let me live."

An idea struck the Redguard.

"Fine. I have a task for you." Sinding eyed her curiously. "You can travel much faster than me on those swift paws of yours. I have already lost a day after this mess which is, by the way, _your fault_."

"What is it that you need?"

"I need you to travel to the Hagraven's lair to the west of Falkreath. Collect their heads and bring it back. I will be on the road, travelling to Whiterun. And if you don't return within a day, I _will_ find you. I have your scent." She tapped the side of her nose.

"The head of a Hagraven. Sounds like a fair deal."

"Not one head. All of their heads," Katraya corrected. "And in return I will leave you in peace."

Sinding sniffed in agreement. "Reasonable enough. Considered it done."

The two lycanthropes walked to the entrance of the grotto. Katraya buckled her armour and tied the scabbards back to her belt. A beautiful dawn arose over the horizon.

"I'll meet you on the road," she watched Sinding bolt across the landscape, the shadows of the trees dancing over his shape.

She climbed onto the wagon, collecting the arrows that had fallen from her quiver.

"Well met, Hunter," a hoarse voice lingered in the air.

Katraya spun with her sword drawn, slicing the air around her. The spirit of a white stag stood before her.

"A talking stag. Somehow I'm not as traumatized as I should be."

"I am Hircine, the Daedric Prince of the Hunt."

"I do not recall asking for your name."

The stag lifted its head. "You continue to amuse and impress me." His eyes searched the Redguard in front of him. "You have my ring?"

Katraya tensed defensively. This meeting was either going to end in a hearty hand shake or a blood bath.

"I have removed the curse on the ring, in hopes that you will greet me fondly at our next meeting."

Katraya cocked her eyebrow. "You want to court me already? But we only just met."

Hircine ignored her sarcastic reply. "Until next time…"

Katraya sheathed her blades, left mystified by the Prince's motives. But the sun was rising, and she had no time to ponder over the arrogant Daedra's meaning.

* * *

Sinding had delivered the witches heads just as he promised, and so Katraya decided to keep her side of the bargain and leave him in peace.

She had bought a loaf of bread and some cheese from a Khajiit travelling caravan, haggling the price down to something she could afford after giving the innkeeper at Falkreath double the money she had asked for, only to leave the town after her father appeared. They begrudgingly obliged, not wanting to anger the blood covered Redguard half-breed. She would have been offended if she wasn't so damn hungry.

She walked the road, walking by the destroyed Western Watchtower. Weeks had passed and yet no one had returned to restore the tower? No wonder the Nords were being invaded by Imperials.

But the crumbling stone of the tower summoned her, taunting her to relieve the moment she killed Mirmulnir and discovered she was Dragonborn.

She climbed the disintegrating steps of the tower, climbing to the top, remembering the heat of the dragon's flames. As she stood atop of the tower, she recalled insulting the dragon. What had she called it? _Lizard blowhard_. She laughed at her own wit.

The wind swept her hair, the brittle strands whipping her face as she admired the landscape. It was so different to the sand dunes and jungles of her homeland.

She gazed toward Whiterun, a flutter of relief and glee in her stomach at the thought of enjoying a hot meal and an ale with the Companions, thinking about how she could exaggerate her kidnapping to make herself a hero and impress Farkas.

There it was again – that damn oestrogen invading her mind. Ever since he shot that shining smile at her and shown her such a kindness she had never experienced before, she had caught herself fantasising about him whenever her mind drifted. The fact that they often spent their evening together sparring and sharing stories didn't help, either. She had to get a grip!

But something not far from her distracted her from her fantasies – a group of warriors marching toward Whiterun, with catapults in tow,

A war was coming. And it was dangerously close.

Another army of blue approached from the other side of Whiterun. This was a civil take over, but she had a feeling it wouldn't be civil at all.

* * *

Katraya sprinted through the Plains District, knocking into every citizen that stood in her way, almost knocking old Brenuin to the ground.

"Watch it, Redguard!" He called after her. But he had no time for him right now. She had to get to Dragonsreach.

She climbed the steps to the Gildergreen, shoving people out of the way. "Everyone, into your houses! Now!"

Everyone she shouted at ignored her, completely ignorant of the arriving armies, but avoiding her eyes, too, scurrying away from the Wind District.

She was not prepared for what she was about to see.

Priests and Priestesses from the Temple of Kynareth adorned the steps to Jorrvaskr, tending to the bodies that lay covered in blood on the ground. The Silver Hand had attacked.

Aela and Torvar were searching the deceased bodies for anything that might help their revenge. Aela noticed Katraya's arrival, but carried on with her own task. She noted that the young Redguard was unusually tense, her face sporting fresh wounds. She could guess what had happened.

Vilkas stood outside of the front doors of Jorrvaskr, folding his arms, talking quietly to Ria and comforting the girl. He detected Katraya, the traitorous deserter. His mouth contorted into a snarl, his beast instincts taking over. He marched toward her.

"Where have you been?" he growled, towering over the girl. Katraya's eyes were full of worry and dread.

"What happened?" the girl looked devastated, a look he had never seen the girl wear before. It unsettled him to see her show any kind of true emotion.

"The Silver Hand. They finally found enough courage to attack Jorrvaskr. We fought them off, but…" his voice trailed off, choking on his own words.

She stared at the Nord expectantly. "Someone has been wounded? I shall help heal them."

"Katraya," his voice a whimper. "There is nothing you can do."

"Believe it or not Redguard's have magicka too. And health potions."

She pushed past him to Jorrvaskr, slipping past his grasping hands.

"Don't go in there," he begged, wanting desperately for the girl not to enter.

She opened the doors of the mead hall.

Njada and Kodlak crouched over the body that lie still on the ground.

The old man, his face stricken with pain and stained with tears, looked up at the girl.

"Katraya," he breathed. "Don't come in here," he pleaded.

"Why does everyone keep saying-"

And then she saw him.

She thought she had left death and heartbreak behind in Hammerfell.

But here it was, taking the form of a lifeless man resting on the floor.

Farkas.

Farkas was dead.

* * *

**Notes**

Oh man, this ending was fun to write. You have Peter Hollens (youtube) and his rendition of Into the West to thank for this development.

I know so far my fic has been pretty close to the quest lines in the game, but I have been waiting for the right moment to switch it up and leave the confines of canon. I wanted you guys to get a feel for Katraya before we start the fun stuff.

MasterAssassinScrolls: Thank you for trying out my fanfiction! I'm glad you enjoyed my chapters and are enjoying O'Tooley's fic. I hope you stick around J

And on that note – my boyfriend O'Tooley is currently writing his own Skyrim fic and I have given him permission to use Katraya, as his fic focuses on a really interesting OC. The fic is called "The Immortal Redguard" and it's exciting and new and you'll love it so go check it out!

I am so damn excited to write the next chapter with the Battle for Whiterun, and everything that follows.

I hope you don't mind the length of the chapters; it makes me feel better about the pacing of the story ;)

Thanks for reading and see you soon!


	4. Chapter 4

_Disclaimer: This fanfiction is based on the game The Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim, created by Bethesda Game Studios and published by Bethesda Softworks, and I do not own any of the characters. Please note also some of the dialogue is taken from the game itself to make this fanfiction feel true to the complex and beautiful world of Skyrim. Please enjoy._

* * *

Katraya's heart beat resonated through her chest, her skin flushing and burning as she gazed upon Farkas' blood stained body lying on the floor of Jorrvaskr.

_Katraya._

A voice called out to her, but she couldn't hear them.

_Katraya._

A calloused hand rested on her shoulder.

"Katraya."

Vilkas stood behind the motionless Redguard, his eyes swollen from tears that fell for his fallen brother.

The building shook, a crash of wood and stone and screaming voices coming from the town outside, bringing Katraya back from her trance.

"What was that?" Kodlak said, standing up onto his feet.

"A dragon perhaps," suggested Njada.

"No. It's not," Katraya turned slowly to face the Companions, a sombre look shadowing her face. "It's the Imperials. And the Stormcloaks. They're here to take Whiterun."

The warriors sat in silence as they absorbed her words.

"So the day has finally arrived," said Kodlak. "Many of the guards will be protecting Dragonsreach. It is our job to protect the people."

"Aye," responded Vilkas.

"Vilkas, go to the Wind District with the others. Evacuate as many of the citizens as you can and bring them here," ordered Kodlak. Njada stood from Farkas' body, her usual aggressive nature hiding behind her focused and serious expression. She stood up quickly and bolted out of Jorrvaskr like an elk. Vilkas squeezed Katraya's shoulder as he left to follow in suit.

Only the Harbinger and the Dragonborn remained.

Katraya crouched down by Farkas, brushing away the hair that buried his face.

"Was it a painful death?" Katraya asked Kodlak.

He shifted on the spot, "I don't think so," he replied.

"You hesitated."

"It's not a question I should have liked to answer."

Katraya looked up at the elder. "I suppose it was an unreasonable question to ask. We are warriors, after all."

Kodlak stood by the Katraya and stroked her hair. She was taking the death reasonably well for a girl of her age. He wondered how many deaths she had witnessed.

"At least he is feasting in Sovngarde now, though."

Kodlak froze, his entire body tensed.

"He died with the beast blood, lass."

Katraya frowned at first – until she understood the meaning of his words. His spirit would be with Hircine, not in Sovngarde; a fate that a few of the Companions were trying to avoid.

She grasped Farkas' armour tightly, the palms of her hands firm and aching.

"There are so many things I could have done – and shouldn't have done. I am a monster," she said through clenched teeth. "I shouldn't have taunted the Silver Hand. I should have killed Sinding when I had the chance. I should have-"

Kodlak embraced the girl, trying to calm her. "This is not your fault. There is only the Silver Hand to blame. They would have attacked eventually."

The two Companions stayed that way for a while, Katraya's rage pulsating through her veins.

The shouting of the Companions outside in Whiterun ushering the citizens into Jorrvaskr unsettled the woeful atmosphere.

"I wish you had been my father, Kodlak," Katraya said, a bittersweet sentiment that made him smile a little before the doors swung open.

Kodlak counted the handful of citizens that passed through the threshold.

"Why are there so few?"

"The rest refuse to leave their homes," snarled Vilkas disapprovingly, his fellow Companions following behind him.

"We don't have much time. The gates will be breached any moment," said Aela.

"The Imperials are defending the walls. It seems like the Jarl has finally chosen a side," said Athis.

"There is nothing else we can do. If the citizens wish to stay in their homes that is their decision. We can only defend the Districts and the ones who come here to Jorrvaskr," stated Kodlak.

Njada frowned. "Why would we stay here when we can fight for honour and drive all of these snowbacks out of Whiterun?"

"No. We must not get involved. It is not our place," said Kodlak.

Torvar sat down grudgingly and opened a bottle of mead. Ria paced the length of Jorrvaskr nervously. The other Companions stood restless eager to join the battle.

Katraya pushed through the huddled warriors standing by the doors of Jorrvaskr.

"Where are you going?" Kodlak called after her.

"I am not letting my city go to Oblivion," she replied, taking her bow into her hands as she opened the door.

"No. The Companions will not get involved."

"Then I shall not defend it as a Companion. I shall defend it as the Dragonborn."

Katraya slipped through the open door, leaving the Companions confused in her wake.

* * *

Only a few Whiterun guards donning their yellow uniforms defended the streets of their city, a few Imperials intermingling. The warriors were tense, unsure whether to draw their weapons on each other. Stormcloak catapults launched rocks into the city, tearing holes in the ground and destroying the homes of innocents.

Dragonsreach would have to wait.

A wave of blue uniforms plagued the streets. Arrows flew from all directions. Swords and axes clanked against each other. She had never seen a battle this intense before.

"Where do we begin?" Aela stood next to her Shield-Sister with her own bow drawn.

Katraya was yearning for a battle of bloodshed, but she knew her own judgement was shadowed by the grief she felt over losing her closest friend. She would respect Kodlak's judgement today.

"I'll take the Wind District, you take the Plains. Protect the residents."

Aela nodded and bolted away down the stairway to the Bannered Mare. Katraya nocked an arrow to her own bow, ready for any milk drinker that got in her way and made her way to the Hall of the Dead.

* * *

The army had spread throughout Whiterun, many bodies already decorating the streets. None of the Stormcloaks had set foot upon Dragonsreach. It was a battle with unusually slow progress. The Companions defended Jorrvaskr from their attackers, venting their rage after their Shield-Brother's death.

"The armies are equal," said Aela. "They should withdraw soon."

But the Stormcloaks were stubborn and refused to leave despite their dwindling numbers.

"Or they will resort to desperate measures," said Katraya. Aela glared at the Redguard, wondering what she meant.

And Katraya had been right.

The Stormcloaks began to pound on the doors of the homes, the screams of children piercing the city. A Whiterun guard fought off two Stormcloaks attacking a house, swinging his axe wildly at the attackers. Katraya raised her bow, taking aim at the Stormcloaks despite Kodlak's words.

She hesitated as a child came running from the building. The little boy knocked into the Whiterun guard, pushing him straight into the sword of his foe, the blade piercing straight through his body. A mother crawled out from the building, tears streaming down her face as she chased her son through the battlefield. The other Stormcloak soldier kept swinging his mace at the guard until he fell to the ground, and stalked after the mother and son like a sabre cat.

Katraya pulled back her arrow, but the panicked woman was in her line of sight.

"Come on," she spat under her breath. "Move."

The Stormcloak followed the woman, throwing his mace around with his weight. The mother fell to her knees in weakness.

Finally, a clear shot.

But it was too late. The Stormcloak brought down his mace over the woman's head as Katraya let her arrow fly. His mace crushed the mother's skull as the Redguard's arrow impaled his eye.

Katraya stood horrified as the little boy ran over to his mother's corpse and wailed. She stalked over to the body. The first Stormcloak soldier looked equally disgusted at what his comrade had done.

But his dismay would not save him today.

She pulled another arrow from her quiver and pulled it taut on her bow, letting the arrow fly straight into his heart.

Katraya stalked over to the horrific scene before her. The mace had dented the woman's skull inwardly, blood running down her face like a river. The little boy nuzzled his mother as his tears fell onto her clothes.

She grabbed his arm and pulled him up. He threw his fists at her trying to rebel, panicking at the sight of her blood-stained Stormcloak cuirass.

"Aela," she called at the Huntress. She appeared from a corner, sending an arrow into her enemy, and turning to her Shield-Sister.

"By the Gods…"

"Take him to safety," Katraya gestured to the persistent boy in her hands.

Aela sprinted over to the appalling scene. "What happened?"

"Like I said: desperate measures."

Aela nodded and took the boy under her wing. He stopped fighting once he recognized the Companion. Vilkas stood at the bottom of the stairs and escorted the boy inside Jorrvaskr.

The Redguard took the mother's apron and placed it over her face to hide the devastating injuries. She ignored the Stormcloaks. She kneeled by the dead Whiterun guard, trying to identify him so that she could tell his family he died in honour, but she did not know this man. She took his yellow sash and put it inside her pouch.

She had only worn the Stormcloak armour for her own amusement. The reactions she got from wearing the blue sash had more than entertained her. But now she felt revulsion at the sight of her in blue.

This would be the last family this idiotic war would destroy.

She looked up to Dragonsreach. The Imperial army was weakening, and the Stormcloaks had started to break through their barricade on the staircase. It was time to end this battle.

* * *

Katraya pushed open the heavy doors to the palace, following after the group of Stormcloaks that had broken through. The Jarl stood in the centre of the room, surrounded by guards.

_Guards that should have been protecting the people of Whiterun_, she mused.

"I'll be damned if I let this rabble take my city without raising my own sword," said Balgruuf as he unsheathed his weapon. Irileth stood by his side as well as his guards as the Stormcloaks approached, Vignar Gray-Mane in tow.

"Balgruuf!" the silver haired man called out as he pushed through to the front of the Stormcloak soldiers.

"Vignar Gray-Mane! Your family was noticeably absent from the walls. Now I know why. Wouldn't a dagger in the back have sufficed?"

"You think this is personal? The Empire has no place in Skyrim... not anymore. And you? You have no place in Whiterun anymore," Vignar retorted.

"A convenient position to hold now. But mark my words, old man, in the days to come, Ulfric will spread his rebellion thin. And what then? We need the Empire, as much as it needs us. We Nords are the Empire! Our blood built it. Our blood sustains it! You of all people should know that."

"If this was my Empire, I'd be able to worship whoever I damned well pleased. You wish to see an Empire without Talos? Without its soul? We should be fighting those witch-elves, not bending knee to them. The Emperor is nothing more than a puppet of the Thalmor. Skyrim needs a High King who will fight for her, and Whiterun needs a Jarl who will do the same."

"Tell me, Vignar. Was all this worth it? How many of those corpses lining our streets wear the faces of men who once called you friend? What about their families?"

"Enough," Katraya called out to the hostile men. The Stormcloaks scowled at the girl who wore their armour but did not behave as one of them. She made her way between the two forces.

"Dragonborn," Balgruuf greeted her.

"Dragonborn?" Vignar questioned.

"Yes, dimwit. Dragonborn." She held her dagger out pointedly at him, her patience thin.

"You have come to help me take Whiterun?" he asked, looking at her blue sash.

"No. I am here to defend my home."

Vignar took a step back, analysing the Redguard in front of her.

"You are no Dragonborn. You're not even a Nord. You're a _woman_."

His words unlocked a fury she had kept restrained the moment she entered Jorrvaskr.

"_Fus!"_

The force of her Thu'um thrust the Stormcloaks onto their backs. She prowled toward the aging man on the ground, the tip of her sword resting on his exposed neck.

"Leave this city. Withdraw your men from combat. This city is protected."

"You are only one person," Vignar snarled. She pressed her sword harder into his skin.

"I am one Dragonborn," she corrected. "Now leave before I decide to slaughter you all."

She turned to face the grinning Jarl.

"And that goes for you too," she pointed her sword at the few Imperial guards. Balgruuf's smile fell from his face.

"These men came to our aid in our hour of need. I will not have them threatened in my city. I have signed a contract with the Imperials."

Katraya narrowed her eyes at the Jarl. "I didn't think you so weak, Balgruuf."

"I did what I had to do to protect my people."

"Well you didn't do a very good job," Katraya retorted.

"Last time I checked you weren't the Jarl of Whiterun, but a Thane," said Balgruuf. "You know nothing of defending a city."

Katraya rolled her eyes and turned back to Vignar. "Leave now. I will not repeat myself."

Vignar and his soldiers were on their feet, their weapons drawn and ready for battle.

"I will not leave until this man surrenders to us."

Katraya looked from each man to the other. "Fine," she said in resignation. "Fight each other to the death. Watch the people of Skyrim die, too. Even though you both claim to be protecting them," she sheathed her swords and walked to the exit.

"Where are you going, girl?" called Irileth.

"Somewhere that doesn't threaten to lower my intelligence just by being there."

* * *

Aela greeted Katraya climbing the steps of Jorrvaskr.

"Did you manage to stop the leader of the Stormcloaks?" Aela asked.

"No."

"So what happened?"

"Vignar Gray-Mane and Jarl Balgruuf are two insufferable selfish men. There is nothing more to say."

Vilkas stopped what he was doing to listen to Katraya.

"Vignar Gray-Mane? I knew he sided with the Stormcloaks, but to bring them into this city – his home?" said Vilkas.

Katraya waved off the comments. "I don't care anymore. I'm tired and politics is boring."

"So what will happen now?" asked Aela.

"Well Vignar said he wouldn't leave until Balgruuf surrendered. So who knows?"

"You mean you left before it had finished?!" Vilkas came dangerously close to the Dragonborn.

Katraya shrugged. "I was bored and they were unbearably egocentric. They don't care what happens to the people of Skyrim. They only care about power. The Jarl even signed a contract with the Imperials."

"The Imperials?" said Aela.

"You irresponsible Redguard," the tall man snarled. "You could have stopped their feud but instead you walked out!"

"And what would you have done?" Katraya prodded his armoured chest. "Slain Vignar and sided with the Imperials? Forced Balgruuf to surrender and side with the Stormcloaks? Or kill everyone in the room and leave the city helpless and vulnerable?"

Vilkas' eyes traced the war wounds she had collected of the past few days. The bags under her eyes cried out for rest and her dry chapped lips longed for food and drink.

"Aye. I suppose you are right," Vilkas admitted reluctantly, taking a step back.

"Tell me how it ends. I'm going to rest."

* * *

Katraya entered Jorrvaskr. Farkas' body had been moved since she had left, and citizens of Whiterun sat at the dining table, eating and drinking with their heads low and their gazes' avoidant. A woman looked up from her meal and watched the Redguard girl move to her own seat at the table.

"You are the Dragonborn," she said in a low voice from across the room.

The handful of people that remained looked up and probed the girl with their eyes, evaluating their ancient hero of myth and legend.

Katraya sighed, setting her cutlery onto the table and rubbed her eyes. "Can I not eat a single meal without being interrupted by milk drinkers," she spat, her voice louder than usual.

The visitors were taken back by her spiteful comment. Kodlak scowled at the young girl.

"I'm sorry. I would say she is not usually like this, but that would be lying," he chuckled, trying to diffuse the tense atmosphere. "Our young Companion here – and Dragonborn – has a certain fire in her spirit common with children of Hammerfell."

The room endured in silence.

Vilkas came inside, and bent into Katraya's ear, making her jump in surprise.

"I would like to talk to you, if you have a moment."

Katraya looked up into her Shield-Brother's eyes. They were softer than they previously had been. She still couldn't believe how similar he and his twin looked, but how different they were in reality. The memory of their first meeting and sparring match intruded her mind, but it wasn't received fondly.

"If I must," she replied. She scraped her chair back in exaggeration, the noise disturbing the weary and tired residents of the mead hall.

She followed him to the courtyard outside, the view from the top of the steps looking at the mountains a total contrast to the body filled battlefield within the city.

Vilkas stood tense under the setting sun. Where to begin?

"The Stormcloaks have left. For now."

Katraya looked up at the man, his war paint smothered and blurred around his eyes.

"Of course they have. I threatened them. Who wouldn't take a threat from the Dragonborn seriously?" Her false arrogance wavered under his intense glare.

They stood in silence, the weight of the day taking its toll on the grieving Companions.

"I am sorry for how I treated you when you first came here. It was not my intention to offend you so greatly."

Katraya narrowed her eyes and assessed the man next to her. He was trying to make up for his actions, but that had been weeks ago and he had avoided her since that day. Why had it taken him so long to cough up an apology? Perhaps his brother's death played a part.

"I know that you and my brother were good friends – close, even – and I know you are feeling this sorrow as heavily as we all are. My brother had hoped we would have been friends eventually…" his voice trailed off as his gathered his integrity.

So it _was_ Farkas that provoked this apology.

She grabbed his shoulder and squeezed, noticing the remarkable height difference they had. She had never seen him so vulnerable. And no one had seen her vulnerable, either, before today.

Vilkas regained his posture. "The Circle has agreed you should take his living quarters. It will be empty now. You will make good use of it."

"I don't think I can, it's too soon," her voice cracked and her forehead scrunched as she frowned.

"Perhaps," was all Vilkas could say.

Katraya looked over to the Skyforge as the sound of bustling Companions made their way up to the top.

"It is time," said Vilkas.

* * *

"Who will start?" Eorlund finally broke the silence.

"I'll do it," said Kodlak, standing straight and breathing in. "Before the ancient flame..."

"We grieve," responded the Companions.

"At this loss..." said Eorlund.

"We weep."

"For the fallen..." said Aela.

"We shout."

"And for ourselves..." said Vilkas.

"We take our leave."

Kodlak stepped forward and used his torch to light the fire, the wrap around Farkas' body illuminating the dark sky. The Companions stood mesmerised by the dancing flames.

"His spirit is departed. Members of the Circle, let us withdraw to the Underforge, to grieve our last together."

* * *

Kodlak, Aela, Vilkas and Katraya stood around the fountain in the centre of the stony room.

"My brother should have been clean before his death. He deserved to be clean and go to Sovngarde," Vilkas said in dismay.

"Being moon-born is not so much of a curse as you might think, Vilkas," said Aela.

"That's fine for you. But he wanted to be clean. He wanted to meet Ysgramor and know the glories of Sovngarde. But all that was taken from him."

"No, Vilkas. _You_ want to meet Ysgramor and rest in Sovngarde. Your brother followed you because that was the only thing he knew what to do," Aela responded bitterly.

"Stop. This is not what he would have wanted," Kodlak intervened. "Katraya, you spent a lot of time with him. What do you think?"

Katraya stood anxiously, her body tensing. She had no idea what he wanted at all.

"I think perhaps he should have been given the choice," she answered honestly.

"Well it's too late for that," said Vilkas.

"Maybe not," Kodlak replied. "Before the Silver Hand attacked I sent Katraya on a task to retrieve the Glenmoril Witch's heads. If we can take them into Ysgramor's tomb and set them onto the fire, we may be able to cleanse his spirit."

"Doesn't that only work for Harbingers?" asked Aela.

"I am not sure, as Wuuthrad is still in pieces."

Eorlund entered behind Katraya, and she stood aside to let him enter.

"And dragons were just stories. And the elves once ruled Skyrim. Just because something is, doesn't mean it must be. The blade is a weapon. A tool. Tools are meant to be broken. And repaired."

He held out the mighty weapon of the ancient hero Ysgramor.

"By the Divines… Did you repair the blade?" Aela said.

"Indeed, I did. Take it to the Tomb. You can at least try to cleanse your brother."

Vilkas clapped his hand onto Eorlund's back. "Thank you, friend."

"We should leave as soon as we can. If we travel without rest we can make it in a day," said Aela. "Rest well, and we will leave at dawn."

The Companions left the Underforge and returned to Jorrvaskr, preparing their selves for the long trip north.

* * *

Katraya entered the shared living quarters, the Companions resting in their beds after a long distressing day. It would surely be a day that went down in the history of Jorrvaskr – the attack of the Silver Hand, the Battle for Whiterun and the reveal of the Dragonborn.

No one had let her forget who she was. And no one seemed overly happy about it, either. She wasn't what they expected, or even wanted – which was exactly what she had feared. And of course people will have certain expectations of her. She sighed as she rolled onto her bed.

Njada and Ria were lying still on their beds. Athis and Torvar were probably drinking their selves to sleep in the mead hall.

"What's wrong, Dragonborn? Must be so hard to have so much power and respect," said Njada.

"I can see you're back to your usual self," muttered Katraya. "Didn't take long."

"What are you trying to say?" Njada sat upright, her heated stare disrupting the relaxed ambiance of the room.

"Stop it. We've all had a tough day. Let's just sleep," pleaded Ria.

"I'm saying even I have a little _sensitivity_ to a comrade's death. You on the other hand are permanently unpleasant."

Njada stood her ground, glowering at her Shield-Sister.

"You've done nothing but bring trouble since the day you came here. I think you've outstayed your welcome, Redguard," she growled, stressing her last word.

"Njada-"

"It's okay, Ria. I'll take myself and my power and my respect elsewhere." Katraya rummaged through her trunk and retrieved her items, stomping through the corridors to Farkas' room.

She stood outside of his room, spurring herself to take the step inside. She finally found the courage and immediately felt uncomfortable replacing her Shield-Brother.

_I am not replacing Farkas_, she tried to convince herself.

She carefully placed her things by the door, not wanting to make it her permanent residence.

Katraya poked around the room, admiring the different decorations and items he kept around. She had only been in his room a few times. She saw the two of them lounging in his room laughing and exchanging stories, and her heart warmed.

Exhaustion overtook her and she lay down on his bed – the smell of sweat and earth that would usually repulse her was strangely inviting. She buried her head into his pillow.

For the first time in years she began to cry.

* * *

Vilkas had come to check on the girl during the night, after a restless attempt at sleeping. He had found her curled up in a ball on the floor, still wearing her bloody armour. He sighed at the sight of such a vulnerable Katraya – it made him uncomfortable seeing her so out of her usual demeanour.

"Why are you lying on the ground?"

Vilkas' voice roused Katraya from her sleep.

"The bed smells like Farkas."

She turned away from the door and continued to snore. _Strange_, he thought. He took the fur from the bed and draped it over the girl and left.

* * *

The next morning she was gone.

"Have you seen Katraya?" he asked Aela. She blinked sleepily from her bed at her Shield-Brother.

"It is not even dawn," she replied.

He huffed. "Exactly."

The two Companions searched the building for the young Redguard girl. Their heavy footsteps had awoken the Harbinger, and he caught them in the act.

"What are you doing?"

"Katraya is missing," replied Aela.

Kodlak nodded. "I'm sure she is safe."

"But we are travelling to Ysgramor's tomb today!" said Vilkas.

"Yesterday was more than harrowing. She has probably left to grieve alone. She will return when she is ready."

"How can we trust her when she is constantly disappearing," exclaimed Vilkas in rage.

Kodlak could not reply to his question. The truth was the girl had appeared from nowhere, and she could just as easily return to her non-existence.

"She will return when she is ready," Kodlak replied and returned to his living quarters.

Aela scratched her head, trying to think of places the girl could have gone.

"That girl has never cared. Not really," said Vilkas.

"You know that's not true. Kodlak is right. She is probably just as angry and as confused as you are. She will deal with it in her own way."

"But why couldn't she deal with it _after_ we cleanse Farkas' soul?" Vilkas said in frustration.

"We will leave for the tomb today regardless. Let us gather our things."

Aela left for her quarters to put on her armour and gather her arrows.

Vilkas stood in place, regretting that he had never truly spoken to the girl or had gotten to know her. Where had she gone?

* * *

**Notes**

Thanks for the follows! I just realized there are buttons to reply to reviews directly so I will make an effort to reply to some and see how this feature works. Regardless thank you for all of the kind words! I am glad many of you enjoyed the Farkas twist. During my first play through of Skyrim he married Katraya. Heh. Guess it's too late for that now.

As I put in my notes for the previous chapter, a song inspired his death. It is a beautiful song and because I am a nerd I like to think that it plays in the far distance of the funeral scene of the film adaptation of this fic directed by Steve McQueen. Stevie is the man.

Also sorry this one took a while to get out. I have been super busy. See you soon!

**_Hope fades into the world of night  
_****_Through shadows falling out of memory and time.  
_****_Don't say: We have come now to the end.  
_****_White shores are calling;  
_****_You and I will meet again._**

**_And you'll be here in my arms  
_****_Just sleeping._**

**_What can you see on the horizon?  
_****_Why do the white gulls call?  
_****_Across the sea a pale moon rises.  
_****_The ships have come to carry you home._**

_Into the West, covered by Peter Hollens  
__(Original sung by Annie Lennox)_


	5. Chapter 5 (M)

Please note that this chapter is rated M for some gore and language.

* * *

_Disclaimer: This fanfiction is based on the game The Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim, created by Bethesda Game Studios and published by Bethesda Softworks, and I do not own any of the characters. Please note also some of the dialogue is taken from the game itself to make this fanfiction feel true to the complex and beautiful world of Skyrim. Please enjoy._

* * *

Vilkas and Aela sat on a bench by the fire in the Bannered Mare, drinking one last ale before their long journey to Ysgramor's tomb.

"Where is that girl," Vilkas said in a low voice.

Aela took a swig of her drink, slamming the empty bottle beside her.

"Come. We'll meet her there," said Aela standing and gathering her things.

"I knew that Redguard was trouble the day she joined."

"Hush now, Vilkas. You know why she left. It is the same reason we are leaving Jorrvaskr."

"We leave to honour Farkas' memory. She leaves for her own selfishness!" he exclaimed.

A few of the locals turned to look at the man making a commotion, but none of them had the energy or will to calm down the Nord. The citizens had had their joy and sense of security beaten out of them from the civil war knocking on their doorsteps.

Whiterun had become a town of sorrow, and the girl had left just as they needed her, and just as Aela and Vilkas had needed her.

"Come on. Let's go. It will take a full days travel to get there. We will rest at Dawnstar." Aela led his shield-brother out into the hammered city.

* * *

The two Companions had scraped enough money together to hire a carriage to Dawnstar, cutting their journey down by hours. They shared their meals during the carriage ride, even offering the driver some of their hunt.

The man politely declined, "I try my best to avoid meat."

Aela had shrugged and eaten her cooked chicken breast feverishly. Vilkas was too busy listening out for thieves to take notice of the man's strange preferences.

"Did you hear that?" he asked, turning to Aela. The huntress set down her food and focused on the sounds of the wilds.

An elk ran out in front of the carriage, making the horse whinny and panic, attempting to break free from its buckles and straps.

"Easy girl," soothed the driver stroking her mane as he glanced out into the trees.

An arrow whistled past Aela's ear. She crouched down behind the wooden planks of the carriage and equipped her own bow and arrows. Vilkas dropped to the ground from the back of the carriage, unsheathing his greatsword. He peeked around the corner, counting the approaching thieves. He whistled to Aela. _Five enemies_, he signalled with his hand. She nodded and readied her bow.

The driver ran to the back of the carriage to hide behind Vilkas.

"Stay here," Vilkas ordered.

The great Nord charged in, blocking incoming arrows with his sword and dodging, zig-zagging to the nearest attacker. Aela covered her shield-brother with her own flurry of arrows. They worked like a well-oiled dwemer machine. Vilkas' bulking form intimidated the oncoming thieves, and two of them fled from the scene.

Vilkas stood over the last remaining thief who clutched onto the arrow embedded in his shoulder.

"Tell your _guild master_ that the road to Whiterun is protected by the Companions."

The thief crawled backwards and finally managed to scurry along the road headed east.

Vilkas returned to the carriage. "That should be the last of them for now."

"It has been a while since we have fought together," smiled Aela. "We should do it more often. Perhaps during the next full moon."

"No," Vilkas replied quickly. "Not by moonlight," he refined, making his intentions clear.

Aela gave a weak smile, remembering that her shield-brother intended to leave behind is wolf spirit in Ysgramor's tomb.

The carriage driver walked over to his saviours. "Boy am I glad you two are Companions. Anyone else and we would all be dead."

"It's no problem," Aela replied. "Let's move before any others arrive."

* * *

Vilkas and Aela sat on the dusty cold floor of Ysgramor's Tomb, heating their hands and their hunt after they had cleared the crypt of the old skeletons and Draugrs. Neither of the Companions were particularly hungry, slowly picking at their food whilst they waited for their Harbinger to arrive with the Glenmoril Witches heads.

"I can't believe we forgot the one thing we needed," Vilkas growled, angrier at himself than his shield-sister.

"At least the old man will be here, just as he should," she replied.

"And yet there is still no sign of the Dragonborn."

Aela rolled her eyes, but she understood his perspective.

"Too busy with her Divine gifted _destiny_ than a friend trapped in the plane of Hircine."

"You do not know that he is trapped. Perhaps he enjoys it there?"

"I know my brother, Aela. He deserves to be in Sovngarde."

The two sat in silence as they agreed to disagree. A draft of cool air and an echo of footsteps disturbed the silence and announced their leader's arrival.

"You seem to have forgotten something," teased Kodlak, throwing the bag of ugly heads toward them, the sack rolling towards Vilkas' boot. The two Nords stood, Vilkas grasping the top of the bag and peeking inside. His nose wrinkled at the ghastly smell.

"Let's get this over with," said Vilkas, grabbing a head of greasy hair and tossing it into the Flame of the Harbinger.

"I hope it works," said Aela close to a whisper.

An empty room worried the Companions.

"Did we do it right?" asked Vilkas.

Kodlak rubbed his head and stroked his beard. Aela poked the head and pushed it further into the flames.

"Perhaps it was just an old tale," said Aela.

Their shoulders grew heavy and slumped in defeat.

"Farkas deserves better than this-" began Vilkas before being wrestled to the ground by a wolf spirit.

Aela withdrew her bow and nocked an arrow, releasing it straight into its hind leg. Kodlak and Vilkas swung their weapons at the beast until it fell onto the floor and dissipated into a fog.

"Thank you," a low voice from behind Aela called out.

Vilkas spun round to face the spirit of his brother, a smile reaching out to the corners of his face. "Farkas," he said as he strode to his brother and embraced him.

The brothers hugged as a tearful Kodlak and a smug Aela watched on. Farkas held his twin at arm's length.

"You didn't deserve death so early. But at least we could help free your spirit for Sovngarde."

"It is a gift I will never forget and can never repay," Farkas replied smiling. He looked around the room, beaming at his friends, but his face distorted into disappointment.

"Where is Katraya?"

Aela's face fell as she replied to her friend. "She disappeared a few days ago."

Farkas' heart constricted in his chest.

"But she has probably travelled to High Hrothgar to pursue her Dragonborn duties," said Kodlak, not wanting the boy to worry during death.

Vilkas gritted his teeth. "The girl will travel to Falkreath and kill some witches for their heads but won't even help her closest friend in his time of need."

Aela elbowed the man in his ribs, narrowing her eyes. This was not the time to be rude about their fellow Companion.

"Well I am sure I can thank her in Sovngarde," replied Farkas trying to lighten the mood.

"Sovngarde?" said Vilkas, shocked.

"My boy," said Kodlak, "Redguard's have their own place in Aetherius."

"Oh," said Farkas, a look of disappointment and pain gushing over his face.

The three stood in awkward silence as they absorbed the knowledge that he would never see Katraya again.

Farkas thought about the last time they had seen each other. It was her birthday. She had been packing her bags to leave for Falkreath – to collect the witches' heads, he guessed. He stole a sweet roll and she had thrown her bag at the Nord. He chuckled at the memory.

"Please tell Katraya," Farkas hesitated to finish his sentence. "… To enjoy the last sweet roll."

Aela nodded and smiled at her brother, resting a hand on his shoulder. "Safe journeys to Sovngarde." She embraced him, with a non-characteristic tear in her eye. She would allow it for their last meeting – she had chosen Hircine, after all. Farkas stroked her hair, comforting his sister in bond. She wiped away the tear as she stepped back.

"See you soon, my boy," said Kodlak as Farkas turned to leave.

Vilkas finally let his breath he had held escape and his brother disappeared. "Well I guess we should cure ourselves."

* * *

Two days later the Companions returned to Jorrvaskr. Whiterun has begun to piece itself back together after the devastation it had endured during the main conflict of the civil war so far. Vilkas had finally achieved closure of his brother's death and resumed to his old self, but still harbouring a certain distain toward the Redguard girl who had abandoned them, regardless of Aela's reasoning.

_Of course the woman would protect the girl_, he had thought. Aela had begun to treat her like a little sister. She appreciated the girl's fire and thirst for combat, but Vilkas had always been wary and had pinned it to be more lust than thirst. But Ria had been too sensitive and passive and Njada had been assertive and wrathful. Katraya was a balance between the two and had always been eager to learn. In truth Aela missed the girl.

A hooded figure stood by the entrance of the mead hall, leaning against the wooden panels. His leg pushed him forward from the wall as he came to greet the Harbinger, pulling down his hood to reveal dark tanned skin and silver piercing eyes.

"Ashr," smiled the Harbinger. The Redguard smiled back.

_We might as well rename this place Hammerfell_, mused Vilkas.

"You returned sooner than I expected. Please, come inside, eat and drink," Kodlak ushered the man into Jorrvaskr. The two went in like old friends. Vilkas thought it strange as he had only seen this man once previously.

Aela and Vilkas skulked into the mead hall, removing their weapons and heavy armour, happy to be in the warm and comforting mead hall with their friends. Torvar approached Vilkas.

"My favourite drinking buddy!" he handed a bottle of mead to Vilkas and clinked it with his own, dragging the Nord to his side of the table that housed Athis and Njada. Aela left to rest in her own room underground.

Vilkas took his seat, taking a large swig of his mead, appreciating each drop of the drink.

"So, did you kill anything impressive?" asked Njada.

"A few thieves here and there."

"That damned Thieves Guild. Good for nothing lazy milk drinkers," said Athis.

Vilkas turned his attention to Kodlak and Ashr talking in hushed tones over their own food as his fellow Companions took it upon their selves to curse and insult the Thieves of Riften.

"I am looking for Katraya," said Ashr.

Vilkas scoffed at the man. So many people were throwing their selves at the Dragonborn. The Divines certainly had fun picking their legendary heroes.

"To be truthful, Ashr, we haven't seen her for almost a week," concern shadowed Kodlak's face.

"Do you have any idea of where she might be?"

"Perhaps High Hrothgar. But I can't be sure. She did not take Farkas' death too well…"

"High Hrothgar?" the Redguard's expression brightened notably. "I am glad to hear she has decided to finally take on her responsibilities."

"Do not be too optimistic."

Ashr frowned. "I assume they were close?" he inquired.

"They were indeed close. I could tell the boy had deeper feelings for the girl. There was certainly… potential for more. I couldn't tell you what she thought, though. She never expressed her true feelings. But when he died she completely changed. The next day she was gone."

Ashr absorbed this information and sighed. "Katraya is fierce and aggressive. I fear she has made a reckless choice instead of following her rightful path of the Dragonborn. But I shall search the Throat of the World, just to be certain." The Redguard stood from his chair, rubbing his legs from their dull ache.

"You look tired, friend. Take your rest here."

"No. I will search for Katraya, before it is too late," Ashr left his cryptic statement lingering in the air between them. He took his weapons and shook the Harbinger's arm. "Until next time, my friend." The man left, pulling his hood to cover his face once more.

Kodlak sighed and took his self to his chamber.

"That fella sure is mysterious," uttered Athis.

"Aye," said Vilkas.

"Sure are a lot of Redguards in Whiterun these days," said Torvar.

"At least Katraya isn't one of them," spat Njada, downing the rest of her ale. Athis tried to match her and downed his own drink, slamming the bottle onto the table.

"That's how a _real _warrior takes his drink!" he exclaimed.

Njada's pupils shrunk as she watched the Dunmer challenge her to a drinking contest.

"Bring it on, milk drinker," she said as she uncorked another bottle of ale and downed half of it one.

"That's nothing!" retorted Athis, taking a whole drink in one.

Njada scraped her chair back quickly, the wooden furnishing falling backwards to the floor and throwing a punch at the elf.

The two began to brawl as Torvar cheered them on, drinking his own alcohol.

"We leave for not even a week and Jorrvaskr goes to Oblivion," said Vilkas, both scolding the Companions and smirking as he left for his own bed.

* * *

"Vilkas!"

Aela hurled a boot at the sleeping Nord, his uncovered body splayed over the fur throw of his bed and a leg dangling over the edge.

"What do you want?" he groaned.

"You have a job in Hjaalmarch. An escaped criminal in Morthal." Aela threw a thin cotton shirt at the naked man. Vilkas opened one sleepy eye. Aela stood leaning in his doorway eyeing up the bare Nord mischievously.

"Take your huntress eyes elsewhere, woman," he said as he tried to cover his hide with the shirt.

"You're not my type anyway." Aela smirked and left the man to dress.

"Will you not even tell me who the guy is?"

"You're a smart man. I'm sure you can figure it out."

Vilkas moaned as he stretched his limbs and strapped his armour to his bruised and aching body. He took a piece of bread and cheese as he entered the mead hall.

"And what will you be doing?"

"Me?" asked Aela, eating her own breakfast. "Some unlucky woman has a sabre in her home in Markarth. Perhaps I'll try to tame this one."

"If the beast is half as wild as you I suspect that to be impossible."

Aela smiled and playfully punched his arm. "I'll see you in a few days. Perhaps Katraya will return by then?" She winked at Vilkas as she took up her bow.

"I wouldn't be surprised if the girl had returned to Hammerfell."

Aela looked uneasy. "I very much doubt that," she replied.

Vilkas wondered what she meant as the huntress left the mead hall.

* * *

The trip to took a half day on foot, and Vilkas arrived in Morthal by the late evening. The fog and smell of the place repulsed the man and he wanted nothing more than to turn back to Whiterun. Even the people there had looked distastefully upon the Nord. But there was a job to be done, and it was a welcome distraction.

The first thing he did was order a meal and ale in the Moorside Inn, and found a space in the corner by his self, which more than suited the others who resided there. The Bannered Mare was never as unwelcoming or empty, and the thought made him homesick.

The Redguard innkeeper approached Vilkas once his plate was empty. "Anythin' else I can get you?" her polite and sweet smile disarmed the Companion.

"You heard of any escaped criminals around?"

"Oh, yes. Yesterday it happened. I'd bet you twenty septims he's hiding out in that abandoned shack in the marsh just north of here."

Vilkas nodded. Of course, the marsh. "Thanks," he said as he slipped her a few septims.

The woman beamed at the sight of gold. "You'll want to be careful travelin' at night. The marsh is a dangerous place."

"I know," he said politely, and the innkeeper left him in peace.

* * *

Vilkas left the inn and travelled the bridge leaving the city. A guard stood at one end, barely paying attention to the wandering Nord.

"You see a man out here lately?" Vilkas asked.

"Last night, I think. Headed into the Marsh."

"And you didn't think to stop him?"

"Not really. He seemed a little… unhinged," said the guard.

"Then why do they pay you?"

The guard shrugged and continued to stare into Oblivion. Vilkas rolled his eyes.

He headed into the marsh, trying his best to stay on the dry islands. The fog was thick and the stink of the marsh grew as he travelled further in. The trees twisted and decayed, and Vilkas wondered what would drive a man to seek refuge in such a place.

A rustle of leaves to the west prompted Vilkas to withdraw his greatsword, but the fog was too thick for him to see anything at all.

The convict crushed into him, knocking him to his back, the murky waters of the marsh taking him and dragging him down. Vilkas gasped for breath as he resurfaced, pushing the man aside and grabbing his wrist.

"Let go of me!" cried the man, his eyes darting in all directions in panicking. Vilkas took a piece of rope to tie and subdue the man. He belonged in a healer's palace, not a prison. But he needed the coin and so this man would be going straight to Morthal.

The convict kicked out and tried to break free from Vilkas. The Companions dodged and evaded each kick, finally spinning him around and grabbing both arms behind his back and tying them quickly. Vilkas directed him in front, pushing him toward Morthal.

"Please, no!"

"Be quiet you fool! You'll be safer in a jail cell," Vilkas growled.

The bridge came into view, and a sudden explosion of shouting erupted behind him. Vilkas frowned and turned to see who it was, but the fog impaired his vision. He pushed the criminal onto his knees at the bridge and whistled for the guard.

"Take this man to the barracks and tell them I will come for my pay shortly," Vilkas ordered. The guard ambled over and sighed as he brought the fighting man to his feet.

The Companion took his sword in both hands and headed to the source of the shouting - it sounded like a woman. This town was bizarre and he could not wait to return to Whiterun. He slowly edged forwards, trying not to sink into the thick waters of the Marsh.

An arrow skimmed his waist and he turned quickly, but he could not see. Another arrow shot toward him, burying itself into his thigh. Vilkas held back his scream of pain and ran as fast as he could toward the archer. A woman in black and red and blonde hair spun toward him with two daggers, piercing his armour as he swung his sword to meet her. She ducked and rolled away, throwing a dagger into his arm.

Vilkas' arm lowered and he had hardly any strength to keep a hold of his greatsword. There was no way he could win this fight.

An arrow flew by him and hit the assassin, and she retaliated by throwing her other dagger at the mysterious saviour behind him. He fell to his knees, grabbing the arrow in his thigh and yanking it out along with the embedded dagger. More arrow flew, but they came out slowly and inaccurate.

Vilkas mustered the last of his strength and charged toward the assassin, taking the one chance of her weakened as multiple arrows tore her muscles.

He swung and sword down onto her. She raised her arms to protect herself. His sword sliced through her armour and into her skin, the metal grinding her bones and she screamed. He kicked her down to the ground.

"Mercy!" she begged.

"Never," he replied.

A final swing of his sword sent the abominable assassin into Oblivion.

Vilkas sheathed his sword, all of his points of strength weakened by the trained assassin. So it was true, the Dark Brotherhood still existed. But not for long.

He searched for his mysterious source of aid, when at last an outline of a body lying on the border of the Marsh came into view. He kneeled down by the body, picking it up from the waters of the Marsh, the water dripping onto his boots, wet hair slicked over their face.

"The captives," a voice croaked. "The shack."

"I'll be right back," said Vilkas as he set the wounded body onto dry land. He limped to the wooden shack and opened the door to find three hostages tied up with bags over their heads: a man, a woman and an Argonian.

"I'm here to help," he told them as he undid their ties. Each one left as quickly as they could. Even the woman threatened him as he touched her to free her rope ties.

Vilkas returned to the lifeless body lying at the edge of the Marsh. "They're okay now." He scooped the body into his arms and limped to the inn, huddling them close to his body to keep them warm.

The Innkeeper saw the girl in his arms and hustled him to a private room, bringing a horde of potions and bandages with her.

"What happened?" she asked.

"There was an assassin, but she's dead now."

"An assassin?!" gasped the Redguard. "In these parts?"

Vilkas didn't reply, instead setting the body onto the bed, the candlelight flickering and shadows dancing in all corners of the room.

"Here," said the Innkeeper handing him some of her health potions and bandages. "I'll alert a guard." The Redguard scurried out of the Inn, calling to her brother.

Vilkas sighed as he rubbed his bleeding wounds. He longed to use a potion on his self, but this warrior had fared worse than him.

He finally looked at the warrior's face, smoothing the damp hair back.

"Katraya," he breathed as he recognised the blood stained face. The Dragonborn's breathing was sharp and shallow.

A rage brewed within him as he thought of the girl's betrayal, leaving on the day of their travels to Ysgramor's Tomb to cure his twin. Farkas had been her closest friend and yet she had abandoned him! And for what? To battle with assassins? She did not even have the decency to seek out the Greybeards.

Vilkas greeted his teeth as he uncorked a potion. He lifted her chin gently and let the liquid flow from the bottle. Katraya coughed and spluttered as the potion journeyed down her throat.

"Easy, girl," Vilkas growled. "How do you expect to heal if you don't drink the damn potion?"

The Redguard girl slowly opened her eyes to look at her healer. Her eyes were pale and lifeless, full of sadness and regret.

"Vilkas?" she whispered. Her voice was ragged and cracked, deep shadows under her eyes and dirt smothered over her usually clean face.

The girl was so vulnerable, and every inch of her held a mark of battle and remorse.

Vilkas sighed, taking the rest of the potion and helping her to drink it.

Vilkas carried on in silence as he cleaned her wounds and wrapped them in linen cloth, Katraya hissing and wincing each time the pain jolted through her being. When he had finally finished he sat beside her, Katraya's breathing slow, soft and deep.

He moistened a cloth and began to wipe her face of the blood and dirt.

"You have an awful habit of disappearing when you are needed," he said, breaking the silence.

"Vilkas…"

"We needed you. _Farkas_ needed you. And you left because you are weak," he scolded.

"Well I can't deny that," Katraya replied. Her body was weak and she had started to give in to exhaustion.

"So where did you go?"

"Not now. Please," Katraya's voice was weak despite the potions. He suspected she had not slept for a few days.

"Fine. Sleep. We will talk in the morning and return to Jorrvaskr." It wasn't a suggestion, it was an order.

Katraya took his hand and gently rubbed the back of his palm with her thumb. "Thank you," she said before bringing her hands to rest on her stomach and closed her eyes.

Her vulnerable and honest gestures disarmed Vilkas. He sat back in his chair and crossed his arms closing his own eyes, and wondered what in Tamriel Katraya had done in the past week.

* * *

"Sit down," Vilkas said with one eye open as Katraya tried to sneak away from the room.

"So I'm not allowed to piss anymore?"

"You don't need swords and armour to take a piss."

Katraya sighed and left her weaponry on the bed. There went her escape plan.

Vilkas stood and stretched his legs, waiting for the girl to return.

The Redguard slipped through the door and gently shut it behind her as she leant backwards, glaring at the Nord through the fringe of her hair. Vilkas gestured to the bed.

"Take a seat."

"I think I'd rather stand," she sneered.

The two Companions glowered at each other, the tension filling the room.

"I think I've earned an explanation. Sit."

Katraya walked to the bed, her pale eyes still baring into the Nord's, and sat with her knees under her chin. She stroked a dark medallion that she wore around her neck. Vilkas frowned, not recalling seeing it before.

"What is that?"

"This?" Katraya looked down at the necklace with ancient writings engraved into it. "I'm not sure. It was a gift."

"Hm," replied Vilkas. "So, where have you been that has been so important that you haven't even cared to tell us you were alive?"

"As if you care," Katraya scoffed.

"Of course I care. You are a Companion. You are family. Everyone is worried about you."

The Dragonborn's expression softened at his words. "I suppose I will start from the morning I left."

"I couldn't sleep well that night. Farkas' room held too many memories and at the time it was too much. I needed some space away from Jorrvaskr and the constant reminders of Farkas' death. So I left. It was before dawn. A dragon flew over Whiterun to Riverwood, so I chased it. It was a pretty good distraction. I fought the dragon and won – obviously – and that's when I met Delphine."

"Who is Delphine?"

"A member of the Blades. I assume you know who they were?"

"Of course. The group of people who served the Dragonborn, back when we had them."

"Well, she saw me absorb the dragon's soul and made the connection. She took me to her room at the inn and told me what she had discovered about the dragons so far. Showed me a map of the different burial sites – she thought the dragons were coming back to life."

"The dragons are returning from the _dead_?" murmured Vilkas.

Katraya nodded. "That's what she seems to think. She wants me to come with her to the next burial site, but I turned her down."

"Why would you do that?"

"I wasn't ready." Katraya continued to stroke the medallion she wore. "I think that was about the time I received this."

Vilkas observed the jewelry, a strange dark amulet that he didn't recognise.

"I was still pissed at the Stormcloaks and Imperials – they murdered innocents, and I wasn't ready to let that go. So I decided to give Ulfric a little visit."

"And what exactly did you expect to get from that?" growled Vilkas, disappointed by this girl's arrogance.

"I was hurt, I wanted revenge. His men carelessly took the lives of Whiterun!" Katraya took a moment to calm herself. "He thought I was a Stormcloak because of that wretched blue sash, so I ripped it in front of him and wore the yellow of Whiterun. He wasn't too pleased with that."

Vilkas smirked. Even if this girl was reckless he still had to respect her integrity.

"Anyway, I got in a little scrap with the guards before they eventually kicked me out. I was still pretty angry though. I heard a rumour about a boy trying to summon the Dark Brotherhood. He wanted the old hag at the orphanage in Riften dead, and I was eager to spill some blood, so I did the job."

"You assassinated someone?" Vilkas closed his eyes and rubbed the bridge of his nose. This girl was more than reckless.

"I was grieving, what do you expect?"

"I expected you to grieve like an ordinary person but I suppose I expected too much." Katraya was more than ordinary, possibly borderline insane.

"You can't compare a Dragonborn to a Man."

Vilkas contemplated this notion, and suddenly her actions became somewhat _rational_. Obviously his twin's death was fogging his own perspective, too.

"And I suppose that is when I found you?"

"Well I travelled to Riften, met some guy from the Thieves Guild – Brian? Britoll?"

"Brynjolf," replied Vilkas, the name rolling from his tongue in pure distaste.

"Yes, Brynjolf. Tried to get me to steal something for him. Thought he was a real ladies man, calling me _lass_ and looking over me with those green eyes…"

"Sounds like Brynjolf alright," he retorted. Katraya's eyes glazed over, and Vilkas had to cough to get her attention back.

"Oh, right. Anyway, I killed the old witch and returned to Windhelm to collect my gold. Got a strange letter on my way there."

She pulled out a folded piece of crinkled paper and handed it to Vilkas. He opened it and a large black hand print filled the page with the words: _We Know_.

"I fell asleep at the inn and next thing I knew I was in some dirty old shack in the middle of nowhere. The assassin told me to kill one of the three people tied up in the room. My swords told her she could go to Oblivion. And that's when you found me."

"Sounds like you've been busy."

Katraya's cold pale eyes blinked at the man.

"So, we'll go the tomb next?"

"Katraya…" Vilkas ran a hand through his hair. "We've already been. He's gone now."

"Oh."

Katraya bit her lip and sighed.

"You could still go and cure yourself of the beast curse, though. I'm sure there is another head there."

"I suppose…" Disappointment filled every crevice in her skin as she realised she had missed her last chance to see her friend.

"He left us with a message, though," said Vilkas. Katraya looked up at him with wide eyes, her cheeks flushing. "He said to enjoy the last sweet roll."

The Redguard looked bemused at his words. The last sweet roll? What did that mean?

Suddenly the memory of their last meeting before she left for Falkreath came to mind; Farkas stealing her birthday present and Katraya playfully throwing her things at the Nord. She always felt like she was a child when she was with him. She began to laugh, a sweet, harmonious sound that filled the room of the inn, a sound that Vilkas had never heard leave her mouth before. He suspected that Farkas heard it often.

Vilkas smiled at the girl – this was an entirely different side to the Dragonborn he had never seen before, a side that she often hid behind her steely eyes and unpleasant remarks.

The Redguard's face dropped back to her former sullen expression. He suspected that this was the reason she created the façade – it was a mask to protect herself. The Nord empathised with the girl. He guessed she had endured much sorrow for such a young girl to leave her home in Hammerfell – and to then arrive in a strange country and discover that she was Dragonborn. It was too much.

Vilkas leaned forward and placed a hand on her knee. "You know the Companions are here for you. We are your family now. And family stand by each other."

Katraya resisted the urge to reply with sarcasm or an insult, a habit she had developed over the years, and instead place her hand on his and squeezed. It was easy to forget that Vilkas had lost his brother, and it was hard to acknowledge she was not the only one with a gaping void in her chest from the loss of Farkas.

Katraya cleared her throat after the sentimental moment.

"I think that's enough heart-to-heart talks for at least another year."

"Agreed," said Vilkas, standing on his feet. "Want to go kill something?"

"I thought you'd never ask."

* * *

**Notes**

Thanks for all your support! Welcome new readers and I hope you enjoy my story! Every review and follow and favourite is appreciated and it really helps motivate me to continue.

I've created a tumblr for my stories, so if you would rather follow me there you can: **whatisfanfiction . tumblr . com**

I've finally finished my outline for the rest of the fic – I hope you guys like what I have coming. I hope to be finished in a few months, but I can't say for sure. I have a horrible feeling that when I do finish I'm going to feel lost that I will probably end up writing another fic!

I've been into Lord of the Rings a lot recently so starting from the next chapter there will be split storylines with different characters, similar to Frodo with the ring / Merry and Pippin with the Ents and then the rest of the fellowship fighting the wars. Or even comparable to Game of Thrones. It should work well seeing as Katraya will be following up with the dragons, and everyone knows the main storyline so I will have other storylines to follow as well as Katraya's. I am excite!

FYI: I am in Amsterdam next week so I doubt there will be an update. So you can expect the next one in two weeks, unless I manage to push one out this week.

See you soon!


	6. Chapter 6

_Disclaimer: This fanfiction is based on the game The Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim, created by Bethesda Game Studios and published by Bethesda Softworks, and I do not own any of the characters. Please note also some of the dialogue is taken from the game itself to make this fanfiction feel true to the complex and beautiful world of Skyrim. Please enjoy._

* * *

Vilkas spoke to a guard before returning to Jorrvaskr, informing them that the leader of the Dark Brotherhood had been defeated. The guard stood idly for a moment until a Dwemer cog had finally turned in his empty abyss of a skull. He told Vilkas to speak to Commander Maro in Dragon Bridge, but the Nord would first have to deliver Katraya back to her home – partly to make sure she arrived there safely, but for the most part to make sure she didn't try to run away again.

As soon as the farms surrounding Whiterun had come into view, Katraya had started to show signs of anxiety – nervous twitching, constantly looking behind her, trying to find excuses to delay their arrival. Vilkas had simply tightened his grip on the girl's arm and dragged her along the dirt track until her feet were practically buried in the fertile soil.

"Why are you trying to avoid an inescapable fate?" he said.

"I'm not ready!"

"You have had a whole week to prepare, more than the others had!"

Katraya wrenched her arm from the Nord's strong grip and rubbed her arm where a red handprint burned on her skin. Her eyes bore into his own, pleading.

"I can't."

Vilkas rolled his eyes, and tried a different approach to manipulate the girl. "You have fought dragons and trolls, but a bed is where you draw the line? What kind of Companion are you?"

"I am not afraid," retorted Katraya as she crossed her arms, her cheeks flushing.

Vilkas tried to suppress a grin as he saw his words working on the proud Redguard. "Then there is no problem. Let's continue."

The Nord continued his walk to Whiterun, leaving the girl to sulk behind him.

"Wait."

Vilkas looked over his shoulder. Katraya looked down at the ground, a brief reflection of her vulnerable side that had never appeared until a week ago. The sight still stunned Vilkas – it was like seeing a giant cry over his pet mammoth, and quite frankly seeing the young woman like this unsettled him.

Katraya reached for her sword and drew it from the scabbard. Holding the hefty weapon seemed to give her courage and comfort her.

"Okay. I'm ready."

* * *

"Would you two take it easy, you'll break the furniture," scolded Aela.

"Not before I break his face!"

Njada threw another punch at Athis, but the elf had played through this dance before. He dodged to the right and managed to elbow the girl right in the rib cage, causing her to stumble into a chair and falling to the ground with it. Aela stood between the Companions before they could wreck anything else, and unsheathed her bow.

"Athis, go take this to Eorlund to have it restrung."

Athis took the bow and grinned at the Nord woman lying on the floor entangled with the broken chair. "Better luck next time, Njada," he said, winking at his friend and leaving for the exit.

"You can clean up this mess and fix this chair," said Aela before Njada could even open her mouth. The young woman grunted and climbed to her feet.

Kodlak remained in his chair as he watched the huntress, a glint of admiration in his eyes. Aela strolled over and sat next to the Harbinger.

"You always were spearheaded," chuckled the old man, taking the woman's hand in his own. "If the Gildergreen would blossom half as much as you since you first came here it would certainly be a magnificent sight."

"It certainly feels like a long time since I first laid eyes on Jorrvaskr."

The two sat in comfortable silence as memories of the years rolled through their minds like soft waves gently lapping on the shore.

Vilkas' intimidating form burst through the doors of the mead hall, interrupting the two Circle member's moment of peace.

"Come on, girl!" called the Nord over his shoulder.

Aela stood quickly onto her feet. "Katraya? You found Katraya?"

"Aye," replied the man unenthusiastically. The young Redguard appeared from behind the bulking man, her face worn and hair windswept. Aela and Kodlak grinned at the sight of her.

"I'm relieved that you are okay. You certainly had us worried when you left," greeted Kodlak.

"Sorry. There was a dragon calling."

"Of course. I had almost forgotten you were the Dragonborn," said Aela, her expression clouding with curious thoughts. "I suppose you won't be here forever."

Katraya glared at Vilkas. "See? She gets it. Why can't you?"

"I'll go fetch some food for you two," said Aela as she scurried away.

Kodlak watched Aela leave, and his eyes rested on a confused Njada trying to piece the broken chair back together. "I suppose I will give a woodwork tutorial to the girl."

Katraya tried to escape Vilkas' tense aura whilst he wasn't looking – but instead she found his hand grabbing onto her ear and being pulled towards the tall Nord. He bent down and spoke to her in a low voice. "Don't forget that I know the true reason that you left."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

Vilkas grinned, the expression of a predatory wolf watching its prey. "It means you should be nicer to me, young Dragonborn." Vilkas finally let go of Katraya's ear and threw his belongings at the Redguard. "I suppose you'll be taking my things to my quarters now."

Katraya shot a fiery glare at the Nord before Aela entered the room with a plate of sweet rolls.

"This is all we have right now. I need to go hunting."

Katraya dropped Vilkas' bag as she began to salivate. _Sweet rolls! Praise to the Divines!_

"Perhaps you would like to come with me, Katraya?"

Vilkas stood by the doors and grunted.

"You too, Vilkas, if you would like." Aela winked at her shield-brother. The huntress sat beside a gleeful Katraya, joining the feast. "That's a curious medallion," commented Aela.

"So I've been told," Katraya managed to spit out in between mouthfuls of the sweet rolls.

Vilkas scowled at the young Companion and looked to Kodlak and his progress with Njada and the broken chair. To his surprise the Harbinger had abandoned the project and was now eyeing Katraya and her new necklace, his face laced with concern. The two Companions exchanged cautious glances.

"A word?" said Kodlak to Vilkas.

The two Circle members stood outside of Jorrvaskr on the stone staircase.

"I am glad that the girl has returned. But that dark medallion makes me nervous."

Vilkas retold Katraya's story to the Harbinger and the arrival of the necklace in a low murmur. Kodlak's wrinkled deepened with apprehension as Vilkas spoke.

"I don't trust whoever delivered the amulet. Especially as she had revealed herself as Dragonborn the day before."

"Do you really think news could travel so quickly?" asked Vilkas.

"Of course. The dragons have returned after we believed them to be extinct. People look for a hero to save them. Having a Dragonborn is a miracle."

"So what do we do?"

"I'll send Aela to do some research whilst you are in Dragons Bridge. Perhaps the College will know something."

Vilkas nodded. "I'll go and prepare my things."

The two Nords returned to the mead hall, and Aela sensed the tension between the two and stood from her seat.

"Aela, I have a task for you."

The three Circle members left for the living. Only the Dragonborn and a moaning Njada remained.

"Your crying is a real turn off," deadpanned Katraya.

"Go to Oblivion," hissed Njada through her teeth.

"I missed you too," retorted the smirking Redguard.

* * *

Kodlak, Aela and Vilkas returned to the mead hall, barren bar a dozing Katraya, her head resting on folded arms still seated at the table. Kodlak began to tiptoe to the girl, but Aela stopped him, her arm resting on his stomach and her other hand gesturing him to stay quiet. Her hunting prowess took over as she stepped silently to the girl, holding a piece of charcoal and paper as she sneaked further. When she finally reached the girl she began to copy the symbols and patterns on the amulet that hung around her neck. They did not want the girl to discover that they were suspicious of the jewelry, as she would undoubtedly do something rash.

When Aela had finally finished, she snuck back to her Companions and they stood outside in the courtyard. She handed the paper to Kodlak and Vilkas stole a glance.

"The local orphans could draw better than that!" Vilkas teased.

"It will have to do," said Kodlak as Aela scowled at her shield-brother. "Take it to the College, I'm sure they will know something, or at least their library will hold something."

"I will join you. Dragons Bridge is just south of Winterhold. Grab your septims and we'll take the carriage."

* * *

The sound of Vilkas and Aela leaving Jorrvaskr jolted Katraya from her shallow snooze.

"The Dragonborn awakens," said Kodlak playfully. Katraya stretched and yawned.

"I suppose I will be leaving too."

"So soon?"

". I'm in dire need of some dragon slaying."

"Where will you go?"

"The Blades. Delphine is waiting for me in Riverwood. I promised her I would return."

Kodlak pondered over her words. "I think you have stood the Greybeards up long enough, don't you?"

Katraya blinked. "I had forgotten about them…"

"Ashr also came looking for you. He is waiting for you at High Hrothgar."

The young girl thought carefully over which path to take. "I suppose I can see Delphine after." Katraya sighed. "That mountain isn't too welcoming, mind you."

"Here," Kodlak took a key from his pocket and unlocked a desk drawer, retrieving a heavy coin purse. "This is from all of us. It is enough to buy a horse from the stable here."

Katraya's eyes widened at the sight of the coins. "This is too much-"

"I'm sure you will repay us sufficiently with dragon carcasses." Kodlak smiled and squeezed her shoulder. "Talos guide you."

The Redguard shifted uncomfortably at the mention of the Man-God, but appreciated the sentiment. She shook his arm and returned with a smile that exercised long forgotten muscles in her cheeks. "Harbinger."

* * *

Katraya cast a weak healing spell on her bleeding arm as she arrived at the front of High Hrothgar. The troll she had fought on the way up the windy slopes had been much stronger than she had thought, and in an attempt to protect her (very expensive) horse she had brought her swords in front of her and crossed them to create a barrier, but the foul creature had broken her skin. A final flame spell finished the beast and she braved the remainder of the frosty journey to the mountaintop, glad that one thousand septims had not gone to waste.

A tower at the centre of High Hrothgar rose high above the rest of the building, and either side were cobbled stone staircases wound around the tower leading to two detailed heavy metal doors. It was an impressive fortress for people who lived in solitude. Katraya rubbed her horse's nose, leaving the beast to graze.

Katraya climbed the last few steps and reached for the door. Just as her fingers traced the cold metal the door slowly opened, revealing another Redguard man facing her. He was an immortal – a curse laid upon him by the dragons hundreds of years ago. His skin was wrinkled and rough, his eyes dark brown. His features were sharp and his neck thick, his beard was trimmed but his dark long hair was coarse, probably cut by a knife. His form was tall and wide, threatening and rugged.

"Katraya," he breathed, smiling in relief.

"Ashr," said the girl pushing past him to enter the warm sanctuary.

The male Redguard observed the girl: she was shivering, her eyes were dark and sunken, her face dirty and her lips dry and chapped. "This won't do." He pulled his hood down from his head and gently held her half-healed arm. Katraya jumped at the sudden touch and warmth of the man and watched with curiosity as healing magicka poured from his hands. Her arm had completely healed in moments. Ashr took his cloak from his own back and placed it around the Dragonborn's shoulders.

"Hold your hands out." Katraya obeyed, completely mystified. The man was hundreds of years old yet he looked no older than a few decades. She held her hands out in front of her, open like a flower in full bloom, her cold breath swirling in front of her pale eyes. Ashr created a flame and placed it in her own hands. "This shouldn't take much of your magicka to sustain. It will help warm you."

"Oh," was all the girl could say. Ashr left quickly to another room, and Katraya sat resting on her knees. She had never seen magicka used in this way, and it had taken her off guard. Ashr had a certain gentleness foreign to most members of their race, but the full ferocity and battle expertise of a Redguard. The man was a bigger mystery than herself.

Ashr promptly returned with a tankard of boiled water and tea leaves floating on the surface and handed it to the frozen girl.

"So you finally decided to come?"

"Yes."

"I am sorry for your friend."

Katraya avoided his gaze. It was still an uncomfortable topic.

"What brings you to the Greybeards?"

"I come here every so often to be healed. Immortality doesn't feel too good with brittle bones."

"So they have returned?"

"Yes. I believe they returned once they heard your name spreading through Tamriel like wildfire."

An old man with a shaggy beard entered the hall, his movements slow and controlled. Three other elders followed behind him, all sporting similar beards and wrinkled faces.

"So a Dragonborn appears, at this moment in the turning of the age."

"I didn't think they had named you so literally," retorted Katraya.

"Welcome to High Hrothgar. I see that Ashr has made you comfortable."

Katraya noticed that none of the other Greybeards had yet spoken.

"Are your friends always this quiet?"

"We shall come to that. But first, let us see if you truly are Dragonborn. Let us taste of your voice, and then we shall answer any questions you may have."

The young Redguard rolled her eyes. "I think I've proved myself enough for Skyrim."

Ashr nudged the girl with his elbow, his eyes pleading with the girl to stop her rebellious streak just this one moment.

"I never wanted to be Dragonborn," whined Katraya under her breath as she climbed to her feet, her muscles still cold and rigid. She recalled the Word of Power and focused on it.

"_Fus!_"

The Greybeards winced as her Shout pummelled the ancients. Arngeir stood with his feet firmly rooted to the ground.

"Dragonborn. It is you." The leader came forward to meet with the girl. "I am Master Arngeir. I speak for the Greybeards. Now tell me, Dragonborn, why have you come here?"

"I distinctly recall _you_ calling _me_."

"Indeed, we did. You have shown that you are Dragonborn. You have the inborn gift. But," Arngeir's expression changed to a serious demeanour, "do you have the discipline and temperament to follow the path laid out for you? That remains to be seen."

Ashr looked nervous – the girl was wild and fierce spirited. His doubts began to surface.

"Without training, you have already taken the first steps towards projecting your Voice into a Thu'um, a Shout. Now let us see if you are willing and able to learn."

"Hold on," said Katraya, her eyebrows skewed in confusion, "what makes you think I want to learn anything?"

Ashr closed his eyes and sighed deeply. Of course the girl would not co-operate.

"When you Shout, you speak in the language of dragons. Thus, your Dragon Blood gives you an inborn ability to learn Words of Power. Would this not help you in your endeavour to battle dragons?"

Katraya stared into the flickering fire ball she held in her hands as she contemplated this revelation.

"I do fine with my blades."

"You have not yet seen Alduin," warned Ashr. "He is the first dragon that Akatosh created, and thus the most powerful. Do not underestimate your enemy. Training with the Greybeards will be greatly beneficial for you."

"But it's magic," replied Katraya in distaste.

"A magic that few can master," corrected Ashr. "And you are gifted with a great ability to learn these words much faster than any other man. The power you would hold would be envied across Tamriel."

Katraya had never enjoyed studying spell tomes – the process had been slow and the progress unsatisfying. But once she had seen Fus written on the ancient stone wall of Bleak Falls Barrow and defeated the dragon at the Western Watchtower she had inherited a great power that had already proven its use. And it had emerged almost immediately! How many other burial sites would have Words of Power hidden in their depths?

"I suppose I will humour you today."

The Greybeards stood at each point of the square pattern in the centre of the floor.

"I am glad you have agreed to train with us, and fully recognise your potential, Dragonborn. All Shouts are made up of three Words of Power. As you master each Word, your Shout will become progressively stronger. Master Einarth will now teach you 'Ro', the second Word in Unrelenting Force."

One of the silent Greybeards stepped forward.

"Ro means 'Balance' in the dragon tongue. Combine it with Fus – 'Force' – to focus your Thu'um more sharply," Arngeir explained.

Einarth spread his arm out and whispered to the ground.

"Ro…"

The stone floor cracked and spelled the Word in the dragon tongue, energy seeping from the cracks. The strange hum of energy resonated from the Word, just as it had happened in Bleak Falls Barrow and Dustman's Cairn…

The image of Farkas and his beast form flashed across her mind. Pain swept across her chest at the memory of her deceased friend.

After she had absorbed Ro from the markings the energy dissipated.

"You learn a new word like a master… you truly do have the gift. But learning a Word of Power is only the first step. You must unlock its meaning through constant practice in order to use it in a Shout. Well, that is how the rest of us learn Shouts. As Dragonborn, you can absorb a slain dragon's life force and knowledge directly. As part of your initiating, Master Einarth will allow you to tap into his understanding of 'Ro'."

_Initiation_, thought Katraya. An image of herself in years to come with a long grey shaggy beard unsettled her. Einarth bowed towards the Dragonborn and let go a stream of energy that entered her consciousness, and suddenly Ro began to take shape and form inside of her mind.

"Now let us see how quickly you can master your new Thu'um."

* * *

Vilkas' coccyx ached from the bumpy carriage ride to Dragon Bridge. When they had finally arrived, he stretched his legs and clambered onto firm ground, nodding to Aela as she left for Winterhold.

The small town was quiet. Only a few residents went about their daily tasks. A small squad of Imperial soldiers gathered around a forge and workbench, their helms in their hands and eyes bright with anticipation. It was then when Vilkas noticed the scorched Penitus Oculatus outpost.

"Those damn dragons," sighed a soldier.

The female lieutenant spoke to her soldiers. "Stop your belly aching and hurry with your repairs. We have a whole unit to get through before we can leave."

"Excuse me," interrupted Vilkas. The young Imperial lieutenant swivelled to face the Nord. Her hair was fair, worn with two simple braids both sides and a crown braid on top. A simple but elegant copper circlet holding an emerald gem that matched her eyes rested on her forehead. Her skin was clear and two white stripes of war paint were smeared on her cheeks. Vilkas was not prepared for the dainty girl that stood before him.

"This one doesn't look too intelligent," murmured a soldier to his lieutenant.

"I'm looking for Commander Maro," Vilkas finally managed to say.

"I am Commander Maro."

The dark haired Commander wore black and red Penitus Oculatus armour, the Imperial organization that protected the Emperor.

"A guard in Dawnstar sent me to you. I managed to take the leader of the Dark Brotherhood-"

"The leader of the Dark Brotherhood? You mean Astrid? Dead? And this is no jest? Ha!" Maro rubbed his hands together and grinned at the good news. "This is the stroke of good fortune. Long have I watched the Dark Brotherhood's movements... waiting for the time to strike. That time is now!"

The Commander turned to the blonde Imperial lieutenant. "My agents have recently acquired the passphrase to their Sanctuary. It is, 'Innocence, my brother.' Every assassin in that hole must be put down! You and your unit will accompany this man to their lair."

Maro continued his speech without any time for the young lieutenant or Companion to refuse. "You, my friend. You've slain their leader. This honour should be yours. You will find the pit in the hold of Falkreath. Lieutenant Etira knows the way, you must go with her! I would go myself, but a dragon came and burnt down my shack..."

The Commander gave a heavy slap on Vilkas' back and a hearty laugh as he returned to clearing up the debris of his outpost. The Companion couldn't help think that the man was about to enter a nervous breakdown.

"I'm ready when you are, Lieutenant."

"Good. I'll round up my soldiers. We will ride on horseback. That sinister Brotherhood has murdered enough innocents." Etira turned and whistled to the other Imperials who held their helms and shields. "We leave in five minutes! Any stragglers will be on horse dung duty tonight."

A chorus of groans filled the chilly air of the North, and suddenly the soldiers were moving double time. Vilkas was impressed with the Imperial woman's sense of leadership.

"You've been in the Legion a long time," stated Vilkas.

"About a year," Etira replied.

Vilkas was surprised by the short duration of her servitude. "And you're a lieutenant already?"

Etira smiled. "This is my first time. But none of them know that. With the civil war and the dragons not many survive these days. I was promoted out of default, really. That and my family have a long history of serving the Legion."

"Your father I assume?"

"Don't be ridiculous. My mother, and her mother, and her mother before that, and so on. Undoubtedly my daughters will join, too."

"I've never heard of a female dominated bloodline before."

"Maybe you should open your eyes and look around more often. You'd be surprised with what you will find," Etira replied, her tone slightly disapproving. "Men! We leave now! Mount your horses!"

Every legionnaire climbed upon a horse, each beast a different colour and pattern. Etira looked down onto Vilkas. "Where is your mount?"

"Non-existent."

"Of course it is," Etira seemed to disapprove once more. "We lost a few men during the dragon attack. You may borrow one of ours." The young lieutenant gestured for a soldier to bring over a vacant horse for Vilkas to ride. "Try not to slow us down."

Etira took her men and began their ride to Falkreath. Vilkas struggled to mount his horse as the beast had begun to whinny after seeing the others leave. The heavy Nord finally managed to sit upright and nudged the horse to leave. The beast bolted, almost knocking its rider to the floor.

The Imperial reminded Vilkas of Aela in many ways – they both had a history of female dominant families, and both were passionate and headstrong. The main difference being he usually received a much warmer reception from Aela.

* * *

"We will rest here for the night."

The sun had lowered to the horizon, casting a red ominous glow among the clouds in the sky. The moons Masser and Secunda thrived with the dancing lights that had begun to glow in the darkening sky. The unit of Legionnaires arrived in Rorikstead, the halfway point of their journey. It was a necessity considering they had left late in the day.

Etira was the first to settle down from her horse, stroking the nose and taking the strap to tie the beast to the wooden posts next to the inn. Vilkas finally managed to catch up on his own mare – the horse had been uncooperative and had left him in a foul mood.

"You'll be on horse duty tonight seeing as you were the straggler," said the Lieutenant to Vilkas.

A few of the men began to chuckle and wink at the Nord as they left for a mead inside Frostfruit Inn. Vilkas groaned.

"I am not a Legionnaire. It is not my duty."

"But you are riding a Legionnaire horse, are you not?" And with that Etira left the Companion alone to tend to the horses.

* * *

The windows to the inn glowed with flickering firelight and echoed with harmonious laughter of the Imperial army. Vilkas brushed the last mane of the foul smelling beasts, wiping a sweat from his forehead with his arm.

A twig breaking behind alarmed him to intruders. A bark resounded in the farm town.

"Vampires!" shouted Vilkas, unsheathing his greatsword and backing up to the inn.

Etira scrambled out of the inn with her sword and shield in hand. The two warriors stood back to back as they attacked the oncoming vampires and their thralls. Their servants were stupid and weak – but it was the death hounds that were the most vicious. Their jaws snapped at Vilkas' legs, but he pushed his boot into their muzzle and kicked them away. Etira struck her shield with her sword to confuse the beasts before plunging her sword into their frail bodies.

A vampire charged forward, seizing the opening of the Imperial's stance and thrashing her shoulder. Vilkas swung his sword into the vampire's neck, the head dangling by a thread of muscle before Vilkas heaved his boot into its groin and kicking it to the ground. Nothing was left but a scatter of lifeless bodies.

"Are you okay?" he asked the woman, sheathing his sword and inspecting the broken shoulder piece of her armour.

"I think so."

"You're bleeding."

"Probably."

Vilkas took out a bandage from his bag and dismantled the Lieutenant's heavy metal armour, taking the broken shoulder piece and wrapping the bandage tight around the wound. "Let's go inside and find a healer."

"No," said Etira quickly with her eyes wide. "I don't want the men to see me like this."

"It might be infected."

"I will be fine for now." She bent over to retrieve her armour, but flinched at the pain of her shoulder.

"Your stubbornness reminds me of someone, you know," said Vilkas, a small smile creeping onto his face as he thought of Katraya.

Vilkas guided the Lieutenant inside the inn and darted straight to the innkeeper, a balding Nord. "Do you have a resident healer here?"

"Healer? Magic? By the Divines, of course not! The folks here don't care for magic or those that use it."

"A few health potions, perhaps? The Lieutenant is injured from a vampire attack."

"Vampire attack?" a Legionnaire piped up, his eyes glazed with alcohol.

"Yes, a vampire attack – an attack that you all ignored," Vilkas spat at the boy.

"Control yourself, Nord," called Etira from across the inn, a dangerous expression spread across her face.

"Here," the innkeeper placed a few bottles of red potion onto the bar. "Take it as thanks."

Vilkas took the potions and gestured for Etira to enter the empty inn room. Her eyes narrowed at the man, but she obeyed his request.

Vilkas handed the potions to the Lieutenant. She uncorked the bottles and downed the liquids. "I'm glad I was slightly intoxicated before these," the woman managed to say, her nose wrinkling at the sour taste of the health potions.

"Let me dress your shoulder properly. It needs to be cleaned."

"And what would you know about dressing injuries?" inquired Etira.

"I am a Companion. A member of the circle, in fact. This happens often."

Etira stared at Vilkas, her eyes also glossy like her fellow comrades. "A Companion?"

"That's what I said."

Vilkas took the loose metal plate from her shoulder once more. "This will need to be repaired," he said before tossing it to the ground. He took his knife and made a small tear in her cotton undergarment that covered her shoulder – only large enough to reveal the blood stained skin underneath.

"How bad is it?" asked Etira. Vilkas didn't answer.

The Companion took two bandages and dipped one in the remnants of the health potion, and the other in water from his flask.

"This is a tip I picked up during a particularly bloody battle."

He took the clean, damp bandage and removed the blood and dirt from the wound. The woman flinched at the sudden touch and pain that jolted through her. Then he took the potion bandage and gently rubbed the area. At first the pain had been intense – she kicked and tried to push away like a bucking stallion, but after a while the pain dulled until she had felt hardly anything at all.

"It will do for now," said Vilkas as he redressed the wound with another clean bandage. "I'm all out of bandages, and you'll need to take a potion for diseases tomorrow."

"I guess we'll be stopping at Falkreath then."

Vilkas sat back in his chair, longing for an ale of his own.

"You didn't seem like a confident fighter back there," prodded Vilkas.

"Pardon?"

"Your stance was narrow, your shield too low, your blade hand slightly quivering-"

"I have been drinking," said Etira.

"How did you really become Lieutenant?"

Etira sat back on the bed and closed her eyes. Of course an experienced fighter such as Vilkas could see straight through her thin veil of poorly constructed facade.

"I always wanted to be a bard, like my father. But my mother had her heart set on me becoming a Legate..."

"Ah," said Vilkas. "Well, if you decide to leave the Legion there are empty beds in Jorrvaskr. Or plenty of inns with room for a bard."

"My mother would be heartbroken…"

"I'm sure your father would be delighted, though," Vilkas offered a smile to the woman to comfort her.

She could fight, yes, but she was nowhere near confident enough or strong enough to lead a battalion. And here she was, headed to the Dark Brotherhood Sanctuary. What was she thinking? Was she that determined to please her parents that she would go head first into her own death?

But it was no use leaving her with such worries. He would make sure she survived the battle - long enough for her to leave the Legion and join the Bards College in Winterhold, where she belonged.

Vilkas stood to his feet and left the Lieutenant to rest. "Goodnight, Etira."

As he entered the hall of the inn, many of the Legionnaires had fallen asleep in their seats with mead in hand. Vilkas rolled his eyes at the milk drinkers before climbing into his bed in the only other vacant room of the inn.

* * *

The unit of warriors arrived outside of the light dirt trail that lead to the Dark Brotherhood Sanctuary. Their horses grew nervous at the aura of blood and death that encompassed the fertile lands.

"Ready, men?"

The soldiers gulped and grasped tight onto their horses and weapons.

"Silently, now."

Etira dismounted from her horse first, falling delicately onto her feet, desperately trying to stay silent. Once she had finished she gestured for the next soldier to dismount, helping him to drop quietly. As each soldier dropped to the ground, each horse began to whinny and back away from the group until finally the herd had galloped back to the city of Falkreath.

"Cowards," cursed Vilkas under his breath.

Etira crouched and immersed herself into the bushes and vegetation, directing her men to do the same. Vilkas dropped in line.

"Not you," whispered Etira. Vilkas looked at her confused. "One of us has to knock."

"Why don't you do it?" he hissed back.

"Because I am wearing a Legion uniform."

Vilkas glared at the woman. Her eyes shifted between the Nord and the red hand print on the door, beckoning him to obey her order. He let out a large sigh and finally stood. He would have to be the one to brave the face of death, it seemed.

But at least she would live.

He strolled to the door, his shoulders back and relaxed to seem less suspicious.

A voice seeped through the cracks of the door: "What is life's greatest illusion?"

Vilkas cleared his throat, and his thick accented voice slurred with his response.

"Innocence, my brother."

* * *

**Notes**

I forgot to mention in the last chapter that Ashr is a character that belongs to **O'Tooley** and he has given me permission to use his character in this story; he has his own fic on here called The Immortal Redguard, go check it out!

Sorry this chapter took so long to come out. I've spent all day on and off trying to write this damn thing, but for some reason it was so hard to write! In the end I stopped thinking and just kind of typed until I hit my minimum word count. I'm not sure if it will make much sense but hopefully you like it!

Another OC introduced. I have set up a tumblr for my fanfiction and original fiction, mainly so I can upload imagery along with my stories. Today I uploaded a few screenshots of the different OCs featured. I always find that screenshots help me to see the story in my head so I hope that this helps you also.

**Whatisfanfiction . tumblr monsters-of-mortality**

As always I am so grateful for your reviews and support, each email I get with a new review leaves me with a massive smile, so thank you so much!

**Nuclearwullfs**: No sorry I am not Dutch! I am British! But Amsterdam was lovely but those roads are a death wish in itself!


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